mfrM^ 

University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


MR.    HOWELLS'S    BOOKS. 


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A  Counterfeit  Presentment. 


COMEDY. 


BY 

W.  D.  HOWELLS. 


BOSTON: 
JAMES    R.   OSGOOD    AND    COMPANY. 

Late  Ticknor  &  Fields,  and  Fields,  Osgood,  &  Co. 
1877- 


Copyright,  1877, 

By  11.  0.  HOUGHTON  &  Co.  and  W.  D.  HOWKLLS. 
All  rights  reserved. 


RIVERSIDE,  CAMBRIDGE: 
STEREOTYPED    AND    PRINTED 
H.  O.  HOUGHTON  AND  COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


I.  AN  EXTRAORDINARY  RESEMBLANCE  . 

II.  DISTINCTIONS  AND  DIFFERENCES   ....        63 

III.  NOT  AT  ALL  LIKE 103 


I. 

AN  EXTRAORDINARY  RESEMBLANCE. 


A   COUNTERFEIT    PRESENTMENT. 

( The  Scene  is  always  in  the  Parlor  of  the  Ponk- 
wasset  Hotel.) 


BARTLETT  and  CUMMINGS. 

ON  a  lovely  day  in  September,  at  that  season 
when  the  most  sentimental  of  the  young  maples 
have  begun  to  redden  along  the  hidden  courses  of 
the  meadow  streams,  and  the  elms,  with  a  sudden 
impression  of  despair  in  their  languor,  betray  flecks 
of  yellow  on  the  green  of  their  pendulous  boughs, 
—  on  such  a  day  at  noon,  two  young  men  enter  the 
parlor  of  the  Ponkwasset  Hotel,  and  deposit  about 
the  legs  of  the  piano  the  burdens  they  have  been 
carrying :  a  camp-stool,  namely,  a  field-easel,  a 
closed  box  of  colors,  and  a  canvas  to  which,  ap- 


8  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

parently,  some  portion  of  reluctant  nature  has  just 
been  transferred.  These  properties  belong  to  one 
of  the  young  men,  whose  general  look  and  bearing 
readily  identify  him  as  their  owner :  he  has  a  quick, 
somewhat  furtive  eye,  a  full  brown  beard,  and  hair 
that  falls  in  a  careless  mass  down  his  forehead, 
which  as  he  dries  it  with  his  handkerchief,  sweep- 
ing the  hair  aside,  shows  broad  and  white ;  his 
figure  is  firm  and  square,  without  heaviness,  and  in 
his  movement  as  well  as  in  his  face  there  is  some- 
thing of  stubbornness,  with  a  suggestion  of  arro- 
gance. The  other,  who  has  evidently  borne  his 
share  of  the  common  burdens  from  a  sense  of  good 
comradeship,  has  nothing  of  the  painter  in  him, 
nor  anything  of  this  painter's  peculiar  temper- 
ament :  he  has  a  very  abstracted  look  and  a  dark, 
dreaming  eye ;  he  is  pale,  and  does  not  look  strong. 
The  painter  flings  himself  into  a  rocking-chair  and 
draws  a  long  breath. 

Cummings  (for  that  is  the  name  of  the  slighter 
man,  who  remains  standing  as  he  speaks) :  "  It 's 
warm,  isn't  it?"  His  gentle  face  evinces  a  curi- 
ous and  kindly  interest  in  his  friend's  sturdy  dem- 
onstrations of  fatigue. 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  9 

Bartlett :  "  Yes,  hot  —  confoundedly."  He  rubs 
his  handkerchief  vigorously  across  his  forehead, 
and  then  looks  down  at  his  dusty  shoes,  with  ap- 
parently no  mind  to  molest  them  in  their  dustiness. 
"The  idea  of  people  going  back  to  town  in  this, 
weather !  However,  I  'm  glad  they  're  such  asses ; 
it  gives  me  free  scope  here.  Every  time  I  don't 
hear  some  young  woman  banging  on  that  piano,  I 
fall  into  transports  of  joy." 

Cummings,  smiling :  "  And  after  to-day  you 
won't  be  bothered  even  with  me." 

Bartlett :  "  Oh,  I  shall  rather  miss  you,  you 
know.  I  like  somebody  to  contradict." 

Cummings :  "  You  can  contradict  the  ostler." 

Hartlett :  "  No,  I  can't.  They  've  sent  him 
away ;  and  I  believe  you  're  going  to  carry  off  the 
last  of  the  table-girls  with  you  in  the  stage  to-mor- 
row. The  landlord  and  his  wife  are  to  run  the 
concern  themselves  the  rest  of  the  fall.  Poor  old 
fellow !  The  hard  times  have  made  lean  pickings 
for  him  this  year.  His  house  wasn't  full  in  the 
height  of  the  season,  and  it 's  been  pretty  empty 
since." 


10  A  Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Cummings  :  "  I  wonder  he  does  n't  shut  up  alto- 
gether." 

Bartlett :  "  Well,  there  are  a  good  many  tran- 
sients, as  they  call  them,  at  this  time  of  year,  — 
fellows  who  drive  over  from  the  little  hill-towns 
with  their  girls  in  buggies,  and  take  dinner  and 
supper ;  then  there  are  picnics  from  the  larger 
places,  ten  and  twelve  miles  off,  that  come  to  the 
grounds  on  the  pond,  and  he  always  gets  some- 
thing out  of  them.  And  as  long  as  he  can  hope 
for  anything  else,  my  eight  dollars  a  week  are 
worth  hanging  on  to.  Yes,  I  think  I  shall  stay 
here  all  through  October.  I  Ve  got  no  orders,  and 
it  's  cheap.  Besides,  I  Ve  managed  to  get  on  con- 
fidential terms  with  the  local  scenery ;  I  thought 
we  should  like  each  other  last  summer,  and  I  feel 
now  that  we  're  ready  to  swear  eternal  friendship. 
I  shall  do  some  fairish  work  here,  yet.  Phew ! " 
He  mops  his  forehead  again,  and  springing  out  of 
his  chair  he  goes  up  to  the  canvas,  which  he  has 
faced  to  the  wall,  and  turning  it  about  retires  some 
paces,  and  with  a  swift,  worried  glance  at  the  win- 
dows  falls  to  considering  it  critically. 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  11 

Cummings :  "  You  've  done  some  fairish  work 
already,  if  I  'm  any  judge."  He  comes  to  his 
friend's  side,  as  if  to  get  his  effect  of  the  picture. 
"  I  don't  believe  the  spirit  of  a  graceful  elm  that 
just  begins  to  feel  the  approach  of  autumn  was 
ever  better  interpreted.  There  is  something  tre- 
mendously tragical  to  me  in  the  thing.  It  makes 
me  think  of  some  lovely  and  charming  girl,  all 
grace  and  tenderness,  who  finds  the  first  gray  hair 
in  her  head.  I  should  call  that  picture  The  First 
Gray  Hair." 

Bartlett,  with  unheeding  petulance :  "  The  whole 
thing  's  too  infernally  brown  !  —  I  beg  your  par- 
don, Cummings  :  what  were  you  saying  ?  Go  on  ! 
I  like  your  prattle  about  pictures ;  I  do,  indeed. 
I  like  to  see  how  far  you  art-cultured  fellows  can 
miss  all  that  was  in  a  poor  devil's  mind  when  he 
was  at  work.  But  I  'd  rather  you  'd  sentimentalize 
my  pictures  than  moralize  them.  If  there  's  any- 
thing that  makes  me  quite  limp,  it 's  to  have  an 
allegory  discovered  in  one  of  my  poor  stupid  old 
landscapes.  But  The  First  Gray  Hair  is  n't  bad, 
really.  And  a  good,  senseless,  sloppy  name  like 
that  often  sells  a  picture." 


12  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Cummings :  "  You  're  brutal,  Bartlett.  I  don't 
believe  your  pictures  would  own  you,  if  they  had 
their  way  about  it." 

Bartlett :  "  And  I  would  n't  own  them  if  I  had 
mine.  I  've  got  about  forty  that  I  wish  somebody 
else  owned  —  and  I  had  the  money  for  them ;  but 
we  seem  inseparable.  Glad  you  're  going  to-mor- 
row? You  are  a  good  fellow,  Cummings,  and  I 
am  a  brute.  Come,  I  '11  make  a  great  concession 
to  friendship:  it  struck  me,  too,  while  I  was  at 
work  on  that  elm,  that  it  was  something  like  —  an 
old  girl !  "  Bartlett  laughs,  and  catching  his  friend 
by  either  shoulder  twists  him  about  in  his  strong 
clutch,  while  he  looks  him  merrily  in  the  face. 
"  I  'm  not  a  poet,  old  fellow ;  and  sometimes  I 
think  I  ought  to  have  been  a  painter  and  glazier 
instead  of  a  mere  painter.  I  believe  it  would  have 
paid  better." 

Cummings :  "  Bartlett,  I  hate  to  have  you  talk 
in  that  way." 

Bartlett :   "  Oh,  I  know  it  's  a  stale  kind." 

Cummings  :  "  It 's  worse  than  stale.  It 's  de- 
structive. A  man  can  soon  talk  himself  out  of 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  13 

heart  with  his  better  self.  You  can  end  by  really- 
being  as  sordid-minded  and  hopeless  and  low-pur- 
posed as  you  pretend  to  be.  It 's  insanity." 

Bartlett:  "Good!  I've  had  my  little  knock 
on  the  head,  you  know.  I  don't  deny  being 
cracked.  But  I've  a  method  in  my  madness." 

Cummings :  "  They  all  have.  But  it 's  a  very 
poor  method ;  and  I  don't  believe  you  could  say 
just  what  yours  is.  You  think  because  a  girl  on 
whom  you  set  your  fancy  —  it 's  nonsense  to 
pretend  it  was  your  heart  —  found  out  she  did  n't 
like  you  as  well  as  she  thought,  and  honestly 
told  you  so  in  good  time,  that  your  wisest  course 
is  to  take  up  that  role  of  misanthrope  which  be- 
gins with  yourself  and  leaves  people  to  imagine 
how  low  an  opinion  you  have  of  the  rest  of  man- 
kind." 

Bartlett :  "  My  dear  fellow,  you  know  I  always 
speak  well  of  that  young  lady.  I've  invariably 
told  you  that  she  behaved  in  the  handsomest  man- 
ner. She  even  expressed  the  wish  —  I  distinctly 
remember  being  struck  by  the  novelty  of  the  wish 
at  the  time  —  that  we  should  remain  friends. 
You  misconceive  "  — 


14  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Cummings  :  "  How  many  poor  girls  have  been 
jilted  who  don't  go  about  doing  misanthropy,  but 
mope  at  home  and  sorrow  and  sicken  over  their 
wrong  in  secret,  —  a  wrong  that  attacks  not  merely 
their  pride,  but  their  life  itself.  Take  the  case 
I  was  telling  you  of:  did  you  ever  hear  of  any- 
thing more  atrocious  ?  And  do  you  compare  this 
little  sting  to  your  vanity  with  a  death-blow  like 
that  ?  " 

Bartlett :  "  It 's  quite  impossible  to  compute  the 
number  of  jilted  girls  who  take  the  line  you  de- 
scribe. But  if  it  were  within  the  scope  of  arith- 
metic, I  don't  know  that  a  billion  of  jilted  girls 
would  comfort  me  or  reform  me.  I  never  could 
regard  myself  in  that  abstract  way  —  a  mere  unit 
on  one  side  or  other  of  the  balance.  My  little  per- 
sonal snub  goes  on  rankling  beyond  the  reach  of 
statistical  consolation.  But  even  if  there  were  any 
edification  in  the  case  of  the  young  lady  in  Paris, 
she 's  too  far  off  to  be  an  example  for  me.  Take 
some  jilted  girl  nearer  home,  Cummings,  if  you 
want  me  to  go  round  sickening  and  sorrowing  in 
secret.  I  don't  believe  you  can  find  any.  Women 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  15 

are  much  tougher  about  the  pericardium  than  we 
give  them  credit  for,  my  dear  fellow,  —  much.  I 
don't  see  why  it  should  hurt  a  woman  more  than  a 
man  to  be  jilted.  We  shall  never  truly  philoso- 
phize this  important  matter  till  we  regard  women 
with  something  of  the  fine  penetration  arid  impar- 
tiality with  which  they  regard  each  other.  Look  at 
the  stabs  they  give  and  take  —  they  would  kill 
men !  And  the  graceful  ferocity  with  which  they 
dispatch  any  of  their  number  who  happens  to  be 
down  is  quite  unexampled  in  natural  history.  How 
much  do  you  suppose  her  lady  friends  have  left  of 
that  poor  girl  whose  case  wrings  your  foolish  bosom 
all  the  way  from  Paris  ?  I  don't  believe  so  much 
as  a  boot-button.  Why,  even  your  correspondent 
—  a  very  lively  woman,  by  the  way  —  can't  conceal 
under  all  her  indignation  her  little  satisfaction  that 
so  proud  a  girl  as  Miss  What's-her-name  should 
have  been  jilted.  Of  course,  she  does  n't  say  it." 

Cummings,  hotly :  "  No,  she  does  n't  say  it,  and 
it 's  not  to  your  credit  to  imagine  it." 

Bartlett,  with  a  laugh :  "  Oh,  I  don't  ask  any 
praise  for  the  discovery.  You  deserve  praise  for 


16  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

not  making  it.  It  does  honor  to  your  good  heart. 
Well,  don't  be  vexed,  old  fellow.  And  in  trying  to 
improve  me  on  this  little  point  —  a  weak  point, 
•I'll  allow,  with  me  —  do  me  the  justice  to  re- 
member that  I  didn't  flaunt  my  misanthropy,  as 
you  call  it,  in  your  face  ;  I  did  n't  force  my  confi- 
dence upon  you." 

Cummings,  with  compunction  :  "  I  did  n't  mean 
to  hurt  your  feelings,  Bartlett." 

Bartlett :  "  Well,  you  have  n't.     It 's  all  right." 

Cummings,  with  anxious  concern  :  "  I  wish  I 
could  think  so." 

Bartlett,  dryly :  "  You  have  my  leave  —  my  re- 
quest, in  fact."  He  takes  a  turn  about  the  room, 
thrusting  his  fingers  through  the  hair  on  his  fore- 
head, and  letting  it  fall  in  a  heavy  tangle,  and  then 
pulling  at  either  side  of  his  parted  beard.  In 
facing  away  from  one  of  the  sofas  at  the  end  of 
the  room,  he  looks  back  over  his  shoulder  at  it, 
falters,  wheels  about,  and  picks  up  from  it  a  lady's 
shawl  and  hat.  "  Hallo  !  "  He  lets  the  shawl  fall 
again  into  picturesque  folds  on  the  sofa.  "  This  is 
the  spoil  of  no  local  beauty,  Cummings.  Look 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  17 

here ;   I  don't  understand  this.     There  has   been 
an  arrival." 

Gumming *s,  joining  his  friend  in  contemplation  of 
the  hat  and  shawl :  "  Yes  ;  it 's  an  arrival  beyond 
all  question.  Those  are  a  lady's  things.  I  should 
think  that  was  a  Paris  hat."  They  remain  look- 
ing at  the  things  some  moments  in  silence. 

Bartlett :  "  How  should  a  Paris   hat  get  here  ? 
I  know  the  landlord  was  n't  expecting  it.     But  it 
can't  be  going  to  stay  ;    it 's  here  through   some 
caprice.     It  may  be  a  transient  of  quality,  but  it 's 
a  transient.     I  suppose   we    shall    see   the   young 
woman  belonging  to  it  at  dinner."     He  sets  the  hat 
on  his  fist,  and  holds  it  at  arm's  length  from  him. 
"  What  a  curious  thing  it  is  about  clothes  "  — 
Cummings :  "  Don't,  Bartlett,  don't !  " 
Bartlett:  "Why?" 

Cummings :  "  I  don't  know.  It  makes  me  feel 
as  if  you  were  offering  an  indignity  to  the  young 
lady  herself." 

Bartlett :  "  You  express  my  idea  exactly.  This 
frippery  has  not  only  the  girl's  personality  but  her 
very  spirit  in  it.  This  hat  looks  like  her;  you 


18  A  Counterfeit  Presentment. 

can  infer  the  whole  woman  from  it,  body  and  soul. 
It  has  a  conscious  air,  and  so  has  the  shawl,  as  if 
they  had  been  eavesdropping  and  had  understood 
everything  we  were  saying.  They  know  all  about 
my  heart-break,  and  so  will  she  as  soon  as  she  puts 
them  on  ;  she  will  be  interested  in  me.  The  hat 's 
in  good  taste,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

CummingS)  with  sensitive  reverence  for  the  mil- 
linery which  his  friend  handles  so  daringly :  "  Ex- 
quisite, it  seems  to  me;  but  I  don't  know  about 
such  things." 

Bartlett :  "  Neither  do  I ;  but  I  feel  about  them. 
Besides,  a  painter  and  glazier  sees  some  things 
that  are  hidden  from  even  a  progressive  minister. 
Let  us  interpret  the  lovely  being  from  her  hat. 
This  knot  of  pale-blue  flowers  betrays  her  a 
blonde ;  this  lace,  this  mass  of  silky,  fluffy,  cob- 
webby what-do-you-call-it,  and  this  delicate  straw 
fabric  show  that  she  is  slight;  a  stout  woman 
would  kill  it,  or  die  in  the  attempt.  And  I  fancy 
—  here  pure  inspiration  comes  to  my  aid  —  that 
she  is  tallish.  I  'm  afraid  of  her  !  No  —  wait ! 
The  shawl  has  something  to  say."  He  takes  it  up 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  19 

and  catches  it  across  his  arm,  where  he  scans  it 
critically.  "  I  don't  know  that  I  understand  the 
shawl,  exactly.  It  proves  her  of  a  good  height,  — 
a  short  woman  would  n't,  or  had  better  not,  wear  a 
shawl,  —  but  this  black  color  :  should  you  think  it 
was  mourning  ?  Have  we  a  lovely  young  widow 
among  us  ?  " 

Cummings :  "  I  don't  see  how  it  could  go  with 
the  hat,  if  it  were." 

Bartlett :  "  True ;  the  hat  is  very  pensive  in 
tone,  but  it  is  n't  mourning.  This  shawl 's  very 
light,  it 's  very  warm ;  I  construct  from  it  a  pretty 
invalid."  He  lets  the  shawl  slip  down  his  arm  to 
his  hand,  and  flings  it  back  upon  the  sofa.  "  We 
return  from  the  young  lady's  heart  to  her  brain  — 
where  she  carries  her  sentiments.  She  has  a  nice 
taste  in  perfumes,  Cummings :  faintest  violet ; 
that  goes  with  the  blue.  Of  what  religion  is  a 
young  lady  who  uses  violet,  my  reverend  friend  ?  " 

Cummings :  "  Bartlett,  you  're  outrageous.  Put 
down  that  hat !  " 

Bartlett :  "  No,  seriously.  What  is  her  little 
aesthetic  specialty  ?  Does  she  sketch  ?  Does  she 


20  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

scribble  ?  Tell  me,  thou  wicked  hat,  does  she 
flirt  ?  Come ;  out  with  the  vows  that  you  have 
heard  poured  into  the  shelly  ear  under  this  knot 
of  pale-blue  flowers !  Where  be  her  gibes  now, 
her  gambols,  her  flashes  of  merriment  ?  Now  get 
you  to  my  lady's  chamber,  and  tell  her,  let  her 
paint  an  inch  thick,  to  this  favor  she  must  come ; 
make  her  laugh  at  that.  Dost  thou  think,  Horatio 
Cummings,  Cleopatra  looked  o'  this  fashion  ?  And 
smelt  so  ?  "  —  he  presses  the  knot  of  artificial  flow- 
ers to  his  mustache  —  "  Pah  !  "  He  tosses  the  hat 
on  the  sofa  and  walks  away. 

Cummings :  "  Bartlett,  this  is  atrocious.  I  pro- 
test "  — 

Bartlett :  "  Well,  give  me  up,  I  tell  you."  He 
returns,  and  takes  his  friend  by  the  shoulders,  as 
before,  and  laughs.  "  I  'm  not  worth  your  refined 
pains.  I  might  be  good,  at  a  pinch,  but  I  never 
could  be  truly  lady-like." 

Cummings  :  "  You  like  to  speak  an  infinite  deal 
of  nothing,  don't  you  ?  " 

Bartlett :  "  It 's  the  only  thing  that  makes  con- 
versation." As  he  releases  Cummings,  and  turns 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  21 

away  from  him,  in  the  doorway  he  confronts  an 
elderly  gentleman,  whose  white  hair  and  white 
mustache  give  distinction  to  his  handsome  florid 
face.  There  is  something  military  in  his  port,  as 
he  stands  immovably  erect  upon  the  threshold,  his 
left  hand  lodged  in  the  breast  of  his  frock-coat,  arid 
his  head  carried  with  an  officer-like  air  of  com- 
mand. His  visage  grows  momently  redder  and 
redder,  and  his  blue  eyes  blaze  upon  Bartlett  with 
a  fascinated  glare  that  briefly  preludes  the  burst  of 
fury  with  which  he  advances  toward  him. 


II. 

GENERAL  WYATT,  BARTLETT,  and  CUMMINGS. 

General  Wyatt :  "  You  infernal  scoundrel  ! 
What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  He  raises  his  stick 
at  Bartlett,  who  remains  motionlessly  frowning  in 
wrathful  bewilderment,  his  strong  hand  knotting 
itself  into  a  fist  where  it  hangs  at  his  side,  while 
Cummings  starts  toward  them  in  dismay,  with  his 
hand  raised  to  interpose.  "  Did  n't  I  tell  you  if 
I  ever  set  eyes  on  you  again,  you  villain  —  did  n't 
I  warn  you  that  if  you  ever  crossed  my  path, 
you" —  He  stops  with  a  violent  self-arrest,  and 
lets  his  stick  drop  as  he  throws  up  both  his  hands 
in  amaze.  "  Good  Heavens  !  It 's  a  mistake  !  I 
beg  your  pardon,  sir ;  I  do,  indeed."  He  lets  fall 
his  hands,  and  stands  staring  into  Bartlett's  face 
with  his  illusion  apparently  not  fully  dispelled.  "  A 
mistake,  sir,  a  mistake.  I  was  misled,  sir,  by  the 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  23 

most  prodigious  resemblance  "  —  At  the  sound  of 
voices  in  the  corridor  without,  he  turns  from  Bart- 
lett,  and  starts  back  toward  the  door. 

A  Voice,  very  sweet  and  weak,  without :  "  I  left 
them  in  here,  I  think." 

Another  Voice :  "  You  must  sit  down,  Con- 
stance, and  let  me  look." 

The  First  Voice :  «  Oh,  they  '11   be  here." 

General  Wyatt,  in  a  loud  and  anxious  tone : 
"  Margaret,  Margaret !  Don't  bring  Constance  in 
here !  Go  away !  "  At  the  moment  he  reaches 
the  door  by  which  he  came  in,  two  ladies  in  black 
enter  the  parlor  by  the  other  door,  the  younger 
leaning  weakly  on  the  arm  of  the  elder,  and  with  a 
languidly  drooping  head  letting  her  eyes  rove  list- 
lessly about  over  the  chairs  and  sofas.  With  an 
abrupt  start  at  sight  of  Bartlett,  who  has  mechan- 
ically turned  toward  them,  the  elder  lady  arrests 
their  movement. 


III. 

MRS.  WYATT,  CONSTANCE,  and  the  others. 

Mrs.  Wyatt:  "Oh,  in  mercy's  name!"  The 
young  lady  wearily  lifts  her  eyes ;  they  fall  upon 
Bartlett's  face,  and  a  low  cry  parts  her  lips  as  she 
approaches  a  pace  or  two  nearer,  releasing  her  arm 
from  her  mother's. 

Constance:  "  Ah !  "  She  stops  ;  her  thin  hands 
waver  before  her  face,  as  if  to  clear  or  to  obstruct 
her  vision,  and  all  at  once  she  sinks  forward  into  a 
little  slender  heap  upon  the  floor,  almost  at  Bart- 
lett's feet.  He  instantly  drops  upon  his  knees  be- 
side her,  and  stoops  over  her  to  lift  her  up. 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  Don't  touch  her,  you  cruel  wretch ! 
Your  touch  is  poison  ;  the  sight  of  you  is  murder ! " 
Kneeling  on  .the  other  side  of  her  daughter,  she 
sets  both  her  hands  against  his  breast  and  pushes 
him  back. 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  25 

General  Wyatt :  "  Margaret,  stop  !  Look !  Look 
at  him  again  !  It  is  n't  he  !  " 

Mrs.  Wyatt:  "Not  he?  Don't  tell  me  !  What?" 
She  clutches  Bartlett's  arm,  and  scans  his  face  with 
dilating  eyes.  "  Oh  !  it  is  n't,  it  is  n't !  But  go 
away,  —  go  away,  all  the  same !  You  may  be  an 
innocent  man,  but  she  would  perish  in  your  pres- 
ence. Keep  your  hands  from  her,  sir !  If  your 
wicked  heart  is  not  yet  satisfied  with  your  wicked 
work —  Excuse  me;  I  don't  know  what  I'm  say- 
ing !  But  if  you  have  any  pity  in  your  faithless 
soul  —  I  —  oh,  speak  for  me,  James,  and  send  him 
—  implore  him  to  go  away  !  "  She  bows  her  face 
over  her  daughter's  pale  visage,  and  sobs. 

General  Wyatt :  "  Sir,  you  must  pardon  us,  and 
have  the  great  goodness  to  be  patient.  You  have 
a  right  to  feel  yourself  aggrieved  by  what  has  hap- 
ened,  but  no  wrong  is  meant, —  no  offense.  You 
must  be  so  kind  as  to  go  away.  I  will  make  you 
all  the  needed  apologies  and  explanations."  He 
stoops  over  his  daughter,  as  Bartlett,  in  a  sort  of 
daze,  rises  from  his  knees  and  retires  a  few  steps. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  —  addressing  himself  to 


26  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Cummings,  — "  will  you  help  me  a  moment  ? " 
Cummings,  with  delicate  sympathy  and  tenderness, 
lifts  the  arms  of  the  insensible  girl  to  her  father's 
neck,  and  assists  the  General  to  rise  with  his  bur- 
den. "  Thanks  !  She  's  hardly  heavier,  poor  child, 
than  a  ghost."  The  tears  stand  in  his  eyes,  as  he 
gathers  her  closer  to  him  and  kisses  her  wan  cheek. 
"  Sir,"  —  as  he  moves  away  he  speaks  to  Ba  rtlett, 
—  "do  me  the  favor  to  remain  here  till  I  can  re- 
turn to  offer  you  reparation."  He  makes  a  stately 
effort  to  bow  to  Bartlett  in  leaving  the  room,  while 
his  wife,  who  follows  with  the  young  lady's  hat  and 
shawl,  looks  back  at  the  painter  with  open  abhor- 
rence. 


IV. 
BARTLETT  and  CUMMINGS. 

JBartlett,  turning  to  his  friend  from  the  retreat- 
ing group  on  which  he  has  kept  his  eyes  steadfastly 
fixed :  "  Where  are  their  keepers  ?  "  He  is  pale 
with  suppressed  rage. 

Cummings  :  u  Their  keepers?  " 

Bartlett)  savagely  :  "  Yes !  Have  they  escaped 
from  them,  or  is  it  one  of  the  new  ideas  to  let 
lunatics  go  about  the  country  alone  ?  If  that  old 
fool  had  n't  dropped  his  stick,  I  'd  have  knocked 
him  over  that  table  in  another  instant.  And  that 
other  old  maniac,  —  what  did  she  mean  by  push- 
ing me  back  in  that  way  ?  How  do  you  account 
for  this  thing,  Cummings  ?  What  do  you  make 
of  it?" 

Cummings :  "  I  don't  know,  upon  my  word. 
There  seems  to  be  some  mystery,  —  some  painful 


28  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

mystery.  But  the  gentleman  will  be  back  directly, 
I  suppose,  and  " — • 

Bartlett)  crushing  his  hat  over  his  eyes :  "  I  '11 
leave  you  to  receive  him  and  his  mystery.  I've 
had  enough  of  both."  He  moves  toward  the 
door. 

Cummings,  detaining  him :  "  Bartlett,  you  're 
surely  not  going  away  ?  " 

Bartlett:  "Yes,  lam!" 

Cummings :  "  But  he  '11  be  here  in  a  moment. 
He  said  he  would  come  back  and  satisfy  the  claim 
which  you  certainly  have  to  an  explanation." 

Bartlett,  furiously :  "  Claim  ?  I  've  a  perfect  Ala- 
bama Claim  to  an  explanation.  He  can't  satisfy 
it ;  he  shall  not  try.  It 's  a  little  too  much  to 
expect  me  to  be  satisfied  with  anything  he  can  say 
after  what 's  passed.  Get  out  of  the  way,  Cum- 
mings, or  I  '11  put  you  on  top  of  the  piano." 

Cummings:  "You  may  throw  me  out  of  the 
window,  if  you  like,  but  not  till  I  've  done  my  best 
to  keep  you  here.  It 's  a  shame,  it 's  a  crime  to  go 
away.  You  talk  about  lunatics  :  you  're  a  raving 
madman,  yourself.  Have  one  glimmer  of  reason, 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  29 

do;  and  see  what  you're  about.  It's  a  mistake  ; 
it 's  a  misunderstanding.  It 's  his  right,  it 's  your 
duty,  to  have  it  cleared  up.  Come,  you've  a  con- 
science, Bartlett,  and  a  clean  one.  Don't  give 
way  to  your  abominable  temper.  What?  You 
won't  stay?  Bartlett,  I  blush  for  you!" 

Bartlett:  "Blush  unseen,  then!"  He  thrusts 
Cummings  aside  and  pushes  furiously  from  the 
room.  Cummings  looks  into  the  corridor  after 
him,  and  then  returns,  panting,  to  the  piano,  and 
mechanically  rearranges  the  things  at  its  feet;  he 
walks  nervously  away,  and  takes  some  turns  up 
and  down  the  room,  looking  utterly  bewildered, 
and  apparently  uncertain  whether  to  go  or  stay. 
But  he  has  decided  upon  the  only  course  really 
open  to  him  by  sinking  down  into  one  of  the 
arm-chairs,  when  General  Wyatt  appears  at  the 
threshold  of  the  door  on  the  right  of  the  piano. 
Cummings  rises  and  comes  forward  in  great  em- 
barrassment to  meet  him. 


V. 

CUMMINGS  and  GENERAL  WYATT. 

General  Wyatt,  with  a  look  of  surprise  at  not 
seeing  Bartlett:  "  The  other  gentleman"  — 

Cummings:  "My  friend  has  gone  out.  I  hope 
he  will  return  soon.  He  has  —  I  hardly  know 
what  to  say  to  you,  sir.  He  has  done  himself 
great  injustice ;  but  it  was  natural  that  under  the 
circumstances  "  — 

General  Wyatt,  with  hurt  pride:  "Perfectly. 
I  should  have  lost  my  temper,  too ;  but  I  think  I 
should  have  waited  at  the  request  —  the  prayer  of 
an  older  man.  I  don't  mind  his  temper ;  the  other 
villain  had  no  temper.  Sir,  am  I  right  in  address- 
ing you  as  the  Rev.  Arthur  Cummings  ? " 

Cummings:  "My  name  is  Arthur  Cummings. 
I  am  a  minister." 

General  Wyatt :  "  I  thought  I  was  not  mistaken 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  31 

this  time.  I  heard  you  preach  last  Sunday  in  Bos- 
ton ;  and  I  know  your  cousin,  Major  Cummings  of 
the  34th  Artillery.  I  am  General  Wyatt." 

Cummings,  with  a  start  of  painful  surprise  and 
sympathy  :  "  General  Wyatt  ?  " 

General  Wyatt,  keenly  :  "  Your  cousin  has  men- 
tioned me  to  you  ?  " 

Cummings :  "  Yes,  —  oh  yes,  certainly ;  certainly, 
very  often,  General  Wyatt.  But"  —  endeavoring 
to  recover  himself — "your  name  is  known  to  us 
all,  and  honored.  I  —  I  am  glad  to  see  you  back ; 
I —  understood  you  were  in  Paris." 

General  Wyatt,  with  fierce  defiance  :  "  I  was  in 
Paris  three  weeks  ago."  Some  moments  of  awk- 
ward silence  ensue,  during  which  General  Wyatt 
does  not  relax  his  angry  attitude. 

Gumming  s,  finally  :  "  I  am  sorry  my  friend  is 
not  here  to  meet  you.  I  ought  to  say,  in  justice  to 
him,  that  his  hasty  temper  does  great  wrong  to  his 
heart  and  judgment." 

General  Wyatt :  "  Why,  yes,  sir  ;  so  does  mine, 
—  so  does  mine." 

Cummings,  with  a  respectful  smile  lost  upon  the 


32  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

General :  "  And  I  know  that  he  will  certainly  be 
grieved  in  this  instance  to  have  yielded  to  it." 

General  Wyatt,  with  sudden  meekness  :  "  I  hope 
so,  sir.  But  I  am  not  altogether  sorry  that  he  has 
done  it.  I  have  not  only  an  explanation  but  a  re- 
quest to  make,  —  a  very  great  and  strange  favor  to 
ask,  —  and  I  am  not  sure  that  I  should  be  able  to 
treat  him  civilly  enough  throughout  an  entire  in- 
terview to  ask  it  properly."  Cummings  listens 
with  an  air  of  attentive  respect,  but  makes,  to  this 
strange  statement,  no  response  other  than  a  look 
of  question,  while  the  General  pokes  about  on  the 
carpet  at  his  feet  with  the  point  of  his  stick  for  a 
moment  before  he  brings  it  resolutely  down  upon 
the  floor  with  a  thump,  and  resumes,  fiercely  again  : 
"  Sir,  your  friend  is  the  victim  of  an  extraordinary 
resemblance,  which  is  so  much  more  painful  to  us 
than  we  could  have  made  it  to  him  that  I  have  to 
struggle  with  my  reason  to  believe  that  the  apology 
should  not  come  from  his  side  rather  than  mine. 
He  may  feel  that  we  have  outraged  him,  but  every 
look  of  his,  every  movement,  every  tone  of  his 
voice,  is  a  mortal  wound,  a  deadly  insult  to  us. 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  33 

He  should  not  live,  sir,  in  the  same  solar  system ! " 
The  General  deals  the  floor  another  stab  with  his 
cane,  while  his  eyes  burn  vindictively  upon  the 
mild  brown  orbs  of  Cummings,  wide  open  with  as- 
tonishment. He  falters,  with  returning  conscious- 
ness of  his  attitude :  "I  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir  ; 
I  am  ridiculous."  He  closes  his  lips  pathetically, 
and  lets  fall  his  head.  When  he  lifts  it  again,  it  is 
to  address  Cummings  with  a  singular  gentleness : 
"  I  know  that  I  speak  to  a  gentleman." 

Cummings :  "I  try  to  be  a  good  man." 

General  Wyatt :  "  I  had  formed  that  idea  of  you, 
sir,  in  the  pulpit.  Will  you  do  me  the  great  kind- 
ness to  answer  a  question,  personal  to  myself,  which 
I  must  ask  ?  " 

Cummings :  "  By  all  means." 

General  Wyatt :  "  You  spoke  of  supposing  me 
still  in  Paris.  Are  you  aware  of  any  circumstan- 
ces —  painful  circumstances  —  connected  with  my 
presence  there  ?  Pardon  my  asking ;  I  would  n't 
press  you  if  I  could  help." 

Cummings,  with  reluctance :  "  I  had  just  heard 
something  about  —  a  letter  from  a  friend  "  — 
3 


34  A  Counterfeit  Presentment. 

General  Wyatt,  bitterly  :  "  The  news  has  traveled 
fast.  Well,  sir,  a  curious  chance  —  a  pitiless  ca- 
price of  destiny  —  connects  your  friend  with  that 
miserable  story."  At  Cummings's  look  of  amaze : 
"Through  no  fault  of  his,  sir  ;  through  no  fault  of 
his.  Sir,  I  shall  not  seem  to  obtrude  my  trouble 
unjustifiably  upon  you  when  I  tell  you  how ;  you 
will  see  that  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  speak.  I 
am  glad  you  already  know  something  of  the  affair, 
and  I  am  sure  that  you  will  regard  what  I  have  to 
say  with  the  right  feeling  of  a  gentleman, —  of,  as 
you  say,  a  good  man." 

Gumming* :  "  Whatever  you  think  necessary  to 
say  to  me  shall  be  sacred.  But  I  hope  you  won't 
feel  that  it  is  necessary  to  say  anything  more.  I 
am  confident  that  when  my  friend  has  your  assur- 
ance from  me  that  what  has  happened  is  the  result 
of  a  distressing  association  "  — 

General  Wyatt :  "  I  thank  you,  sir.  But  some- 
thing more  is  due  to  him ;  how  much  more  you 
shall  judge.  Something  more  is  due  to  us :  I 
wish  to  preserve  the  appearance  of  sanity,  in  his 
eyes  and  your  own.  Nevertheless  "  —  the  Gener- 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  35 

al's  tone  and  bearing  perceptibly  stiffen  —  "  if  you 
are  reluctant "  — 

(Jammings,  with  reverent  cordiality :  "  General 
Wyatt,  I  shall  feel  deeply  honored  by  whatever 
confidence  you  repose  in  me.  I  need  not  say  how 
dear  your  fame  is  to  us  all."  General  Wyatt, 
visibly  moved,  bows  to  the  young  minister.  "  It 
was  only  on  your  account  that  I  hesitated." 

General  Wyatt :  "  Thanks.  I  understand.  I 
will  be  explicit,  but  I  will  try  to  be  brief.  Your 
friend  bears  this  striking,  this  painful  resemblance 
to  the  man  who  has  brought  this  blight  upon  us 
all;  yes,  sir,"  —  at  Cummings's  look  of  depreca- 
tion, —  "to  a  scoundrel  whom  I  hardly  know 
how  to  characterize  aright  —  in  the  presence  of 
a  clergyman.  Two  years  ago  —  doubtless  your 
correspondent  has  written  —  my  wife  and  daughter 
(they  were  then  abroad  without  me)  met  him  in 
Paris ;  and  he  won  the  poor  child's  affection. 
My  wife's  judgment  was  also  swayed  in  his  favor, 
—  against  her  first  impulse  of  distrust ;  but  when 
I  saw  him,  I  could  not  endure  him.  Yet  I  was 
helpless  :  my  giiTs  happiness  was  bound  up  in 


36  A  Counterfeit  Presentment. 

him  ;  all  that  I  could  do  was  to  insist  upon  delay. 
He  was  an  American,  well  related,  unobjection- 
able by  all  the  tests  which  society  can  apply,  and 
f  might  have  had  to  wait  long  for  the  proofs  that 
an  accident  gave  me  against  him.  The  man's 
whole  soul  was  rotten  ;  at  the  time  he  had  wound 
himself  into  my  poor  girl's  innocent  heart,  a 
woman  was  living  who  had  the  just  and  perhaps 
the  legal  claim  of  a  wife  upon  him  ;  he  was  a 
felon  besides,  —  a  felon  shielded  through  pity  for 
his  friends  by  the  man  whose  name  he  had  forged ; 
he  was  of  course  a  liar  and  a  coward :  I  beat  him 
with  my  stick,  sir.  Ah!  I  made  him  confess  his 
infamy  under  his  own  hand,  and  then  "  —  the  Gen- 
eral advances  defiantly  upon  Cummings,  who  un- 
consciously retires  a  pace  — "  and  then  I  compelled 
him  to  break  with  my  daughter.  Do  you  think  I 
did  right?" 

Cummings:  "  I  don't  exactly  understand." 

General    Wyatt:    "Why,   sir,  it   happens    often 

enough  in  this  shabby  world  that  a  man  gains  a 

poor  girl's  love,  and  then  jilts  her.     I  chose  what 

I  thought  the  less  terrible  sorrow  for  my  child.     I 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  37 

could  not  tell  her  how  filthily  unworthy  he  was 
without  bringing  to  her  pure  heart  a  sense  of 
intolerable  contamination  ;  I  could  not  endure  to 
speak  of  it  even  to  my  wife.  It  seemed  better 
that  they  should  both  suffer  such  wrong  as  a  bro- 
ken engagement  might  bring  them  than  that 
they  should  know  what  I  knew.  He  was  mas- 
ter of  the  part,  and  played  it  well ;  he  showed 
himself  to  them  simply  a  heartless  scoundrel,  and 
he  remains  in  my  power,  an  outcast  now  and  a 
convict  whenever  I  will.  My  story,  as  it  seems 
to  be,  is  well  known  in  Paris  ;  but  the  worst  is 
unknown.  I  choose  still  that  it  shall  be  thought 
my  girl  was  the  victim  of  a  dastardly  slight,  and  I 
bear  with  her  and  her  mother  the  insolent  pity 
with  which  the  world  visits  such  sorrow."  He 
pauses,  and  then  brokenly  resumes  :  "  The  affair 
has  not  turned  out  as  I  hoped,  in  the  little  I 
could  hope  from  it.  My  trust  that  the  blow, 
which  must  sink  so  deeply  into  her  heart,  would 
touch  her  pride,  and  that  this  would  help  her  to 
react  against  it,  was  mistaken.  In  such  things  it 
appears  a  woman  has  no  pride;  I  did  not  know 


38  A  Counterfeit  Presentment. 

it;  we  men  are  different.  The  blow  crushed  her ; 
that  was  all.  Sometimes  I  am  afraid  that  I  must 
yet  try  the  effect  of  the  whole  truth  upon  her ;  that 
I  must  try  if  the  knowledge  of  all  his  baseness  can- 
not restore  to  her  the  self-respect  which  the  wrong 
done  herself  seems  to  have  robbed  her  of.  And 
yet  I  tremble  lest  the  sense  of  his  fouler  shame 
—  I  may  be  fatally  temporizing  ;  but  in  her 
present  state,  I  dread  any  new  shock  for  her ; 
it  may  be  death  —  I  "  —  He  pauses  again,  and 
sets  his  lips  firmly ;  all  at  once  he  breaks  into  a 
sob.  "I  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

Cummings  :  u  Don't !  You  wrong  yourself  and 
me.  I  have  seen  Miss  Wyatt ;  but  I  hope"  — 

General  Wyatt:  "You  have  seen*  her  ghost. 
You  have  not  seen  the  radiant  creature  that  was 
once  alive.  Well,  sir ;  enough  of  this.  There  is 
little  left  to  trouble  you  with.  We  landed  eight 
days  ago,  and  I  have  since  been  looking  about 
for  some  place  in  which  my  daughter  could  hide 
herself;  I  can't  otherwise  suggest  her  morbid  sen- 
sitiveness, her  terror  of  people.  This  region  was 
highly  commended  to  me  for  its  heal thfuln ess ;  but 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  39 

I  have  come  upon  this  house  by  chance.  I  un- 
derstood that  it  was  empty,  and  I  thought  it  more 
than  probable  that  we  might  pass  the  autumn 
months  here  unmolested  by  the  presence  of  any 
one  belonging  to  our  world,  if  not  in  entire  se- 
clusion. At  the  best,  my  daughter  would  hardly 
have  been  able  to  endure  another  change  at  once  ; 
so  far  as  anything  could  give  her  pleasure,  the 
beauty  and  the  wild  quiet  of  the  region  had  pleased 
her,  but  she  is  now  quite  prostrated,  sir, "  — 

Cummings,  definitively  :  "My  friend  will  go 
away  at  once.  There  is  nothing  else  for  it." 

General  Wyatt :  "  That  is  too  much  to  ask." 

Cummings :  "  I  won't  conceal  my  belief  that  he 
will  think  so.  But  there  can  be  no  question  with 
him  when  "  — 

General  Wyatt :  "  When  you  tell  him  our 
story  ?  "  After  a  moment :  u  Yes,  he  has  a  right 
to  know  it  —  as  the  rest  of  the  world  knows  it. 
You  must  tell  him,  sir." 

Cummings,  gently  :  "  No,  he  need  know  nothing 
beyond  the  fact  of  this  resemblance  to  some  one 
painfully  associated  with  your  past  lives.  He  is 


40  A  Counterfeit  Presentment. 

a  man  whose  real  tenderness  of  heart  would  revolt 
from  knowledge  that  could  inflict  further  sorrow 
upon  you." 

General  Wyatt :  "  Sir,  will  you  convey  to  this 
friend  of  yours  an  old  man's  very  humble  apology, 
and  sincere  prayer  for  his  forgiveness  ?  " 

Cummings :  "  He  will  not  exact  anything  of 
that  sort.  The  evidence  of  misunderstanding  will 
be  clear  to  Mm  at  a  word  from  me." 

General  Wyatt :  "  But  he  has  a  right  to  this  ex- 
planation from  my  own  lips,  and  —  Sir,  I  am 
culpably  weak.  But  now  that  I  have  missed  see- 
ing him  here,  I  confess  that  I  would  willingly 
avoid  meeting  him.  The  mere  sound  of  his  voice, 
as  I  heard  it  before  I  saw  him,  in  first  coming  upon 
you,  was  enough  to  madden  me.  Can  you  excuse 
my  senseless  dereliction  to  him  ?" 

Cummings :  "  I  will  answer  for  him." 

General  Wyatt :  "  Thanks.  It  seems  monstrous 
that  I  should  be  asking  and  accepting  these  great 
favors.  But  you  are  doing  a  deed  of  charity  to  a 
helpless  man  utterly  beggared  in  pride."  He 
chokes  with  emotion,  and  does  not  speak  for  a  mo- 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  41 

merit.  "  Your  friend  is  also  —  he  is  not  also  —  a 
clergyman  ?  " 

Cummings,  smiling  :  "  No.     He  is  a  painter." 

General  Wyatt :  "  Is  he  a  man  of  note  ?  Succes- 
ful  in  his  profession  ?  " 

Cummings :  "  Not  yet.  But  that  is  certain  to 
come." 

General  Wyatt :  "  He  is  poor  ?  " 

Cammings :  "  He  is  a  young  painter." 

General  Wyatt :  "  Sir,  excuse  me.  Had  he 
planned  to  remain  here  some  time,  yet  ?  " 

Cummings,  reluctantly :  "  He  has  been  sketch- 
ing here.  He  had  expected  to  stay  through  Octo- 
ber." 

General  Wyatt:  "You  make  the  sacrifice  hard 
to  accept  —  I  beg  your  pardon  !  But  I  must  ac- 
cept it.  I  am  bound  hand  and  foot." 

Cummings :  "  I  am  sorry  to  have  been  obliged  to 
tell  you  this." 

General  Wyatt :  "  I  obliged  you,  sir ;  I  obliged 
you.  Give  me  your  advice,  sir;  you  know  your 
friend.  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  am  not  rich.  I  don't 
belong  to  a  branch  of  the  government  service  in 


42  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

which  people  enrich  themselves.  But  I  have  my 
pay ;  and  if  your  friend  could  sell  me  the  pictures 
he  's  been  painting  here  "  — 

Gummings :  "  That  's  quite  impossible.  There 
is  no  form  in  which  I  could  propose  such  a  thing  to 
a  man  of  his  generous  pride." 

General  Wyatt :  "  Well,  then,  sir,  I  must  satisfy 
myself  as  I  can  to  remain  his  debtor.  Will  you 
kindly  undertake  to  tell  him  ?  " 

An  Elderly  Serving-  Woman,  who  appears  timidly 
and  anxiously  at  the  right-hand  door :  "  General 
Wyatt." 

General  Wyatt,  with  a  start:  "Yes,  Mary! 
Well?" 

Mary,  in  vanishing:  "Mrs.  Wyatt  wishes  to 
speak  with  you." 

General  Wyatt,  going  up  to  Cummings :  "  I 
must  go,  sir.  I  leave  unsaid  what  I  cannot  even 
try  to  say."  He  offers  his  hand. 

Cummings, grasping  the  proffered  hand:  "Every- 
thing is  understood."  But  as  Mr.  Cummings  re- 
turns from  following  General  Wyatt  to  the  door, 
his  face  does  not  confirm  the  entire  security  of  his 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  43 

words.  He  looks  anxious  and  perturbed,  and 
when  he  has  taken  up  his  hat  and  stick,  he  stands 
pondering  absent-mindedly.  At  last  he  puts  on  his 
hat  and  starts  briskly  toward  the  door.  Before 
he  reaches  it,  he  encounters  Bartlett,  who  advances 
abruptly  into  the  room.  "Oh!  I  was  going  to 
look  for  you." 


VI. 

CUMMINGS  and  BARTLETT. 

Bartlett,  sulkily:  "Were  you?"  He  walks, 
without  looking  at  Cummings,  to  where  his  paint- 
er's paraphernalia  are  lying,  and  begins  to  pick 
them  up. 

Cummings:  "Yes."  In  great  embarrassment: 
"  Bartlett,  General  Wyatt  has  been  here." 

Bartlett,  without  looking  round :  "  Who  is  Gen- 
eral Wyatt?" 

Cummings:  "I  mean  the  gentleman  who  — 
whom  you  would  n't  wait  to  see." 

Bartlett:  "Urn!"  He  has  gathered  the  things 
into  his  arms,  and  is  about  to  leave  the  room. 

Cummings,  in  great  distress:  "Bartlett,  Bart- 
lett! Don't  go!  I  implore  you,  if  you  have  any 
regard  for  me  whatever,  to  hear  what  I  have  to 
say.  It's  boyish,  it's  cruel,  it's  cowardly  to  be- 
have as  you  're  doing ! " 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  45 

Bartktt :  "Anything  more,  Mr.  Cummings?  I 
give  you  benefit  of  clergy." 

Cummings:  "I  take  it — to  denounce  your  pro- 
ceeding as  something  that  you  '11  always  be  sorry 
for  and  ashamed  of." 

Bartlett:  "Oh!  Then,  if  you  have  quite  freed 
your  mind,  I  think  I  may  go." 

Cummings :  "  No,  no  !  You  must  n't  go.  Don't 
go,  my  dear  fellow.  Forgive  me  !  I  know  how  in- 
sulted you  feel,  but  upon  my  soul  it 's  all  a  mistake, 
—  it  is,  indeed.  General  Wyatt  "  —  Bartlett  fal- 
ters a  moment  and  stands  as  if  irresolute  whether 
to  stay  and  listen  or  push  on  out  of  the  room  — 
"  the  young  lady  —  I  don't  know  how  to  begin  ! " 

Bartlett,  relenting  a  little :  "  Well  ?  I  'm  sorry 
for  you,  Cummings.  I  left  a  very  awkward  busi- 
ness to  you,  and  it  was  n't  yours,  either.  As  for 
General  Wyatt,  as  he  chooses  to  call  himself"  — 

Cummings,  in  amaze  :  "  Call  himself  ?  It 's  his 
name  !  " 

Bartlett :  "  Oh,  very  likely  !  So  is  King  David 
his  name,  when  he  happens  to  be  in  a  Scriptural 
craze.  What  explanation  have  you  been  com- 
missioned to  make  rne  ?  What  apology  ?  " 


46  A  Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Cummings :  "  The  most  definite,  the  most  satis- 
factory. You  resemble  in  a  most  extraordinary 
manner  a  man  who  has  inflicted  an  abominable 
wrong  upon  these  people,  a  treacherous  and  cow- 
ardly villain  "  — 

Bartlett,  in  a  burst  of  fury :  "  Stop  !  Is  that 
your  idea  of  an  apology,  an  explanation  ?  Is  n't 
it  enough  that  I  should  be  threatened,  and  vilified, 
and  have  people  fainting  at  the  sight  of  me,  but 
I  must  be  told  by  way  of  reparation  that  it  all 
happens  because  I  look  like  a  rascal  ?  " 

Cummings :  "  My  dear  friend !  Do  listen  to 
me!" 

Bartlett :  "  No,  sir,  I  won't  listen  to  you  !  I  've 
listened  too  much !  What  right,  I  should  like  to 
know,  have  they  to  find  this  resemblance  in  me  ? 
And  do  they  suppose  that  I  'm  going  to  be  placa- 
ted by  being  told  that  they  treat  me  like  a  rogue 
because  I  look  like  one?  It's  a  little  too  much. 
A  man  calls  '  Stop  Thief  after  me  and  expects 
me  to  be  delighted  when  he  tells  me  I  look  like  a 
thief!  The  reparation  is  an  additional  insult.  I 
don't  choose  to  know  that  they  fancy  this  infa- 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  47 

mous  resemblance  in  me.  Their  pretending  it  is 
an  outrage ;  and  your  reporting  it  to  me  is  an  of- 
fense. Will  you  tell  them  what  I  say  ?  Will  you 
tell  this  General  Wyatt  and  the  rest  of  his  Bed- 
lam-broke-loose, that  they  may  all  go  to  the  "  — 

Cummings :  "  For  shame,  for  shame  !  You  out- 
rage a  terrible  sorrow !  You  insult  a  trouble  sore 
to  death !  You  trample  upon  an  anguish  that 
should  be  sacred  to  your  tears  ! " 

Bartlett,  resting  his  elbow  on  the  corner  of  the 
piano :  "  What  —  what  do  you  mean,  Cummings  ?  " 

Cummings :  "  What  do  I  mean  ?  What  you  are 
not  worthy  to  know!  I  mean  that  these  people, 
against  whom  you  vent  your  stupid  rage,  are  wor- 
thy of  angelic  pity.  I  mean  that  by  some  disas- 
trous mischance  you  resemble  to  the  life,  in  tone, 
manner,  and  feature,  the  wretch  who  won  that  poor 
girl's  heart,  and  then  crushed  it ;  who  —  Bartlett, 
look  here  !  These  are  the  people  —  this  is  the 
young  lady  —  of  whom  my  friend  wrote  me  from 
Paris ;  do  you  understand  ?  " 

Bartlett,  in  a  dull  bewilderment:  "No,  I  don't 
understand." 


48  A  Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Cummings :  "  Why,  you  know  what  we  were 
talking  of  just  before  they  came  in ;  you  know 
what  I  told  you  of  that  cruel  business." 

Bartlett:  "Well?" 

Cummings :  "  Well,  this  is  the  young  lady  "  — 

Bartlett,  dauntedly :  "  Oh,  come,  now  !  You  don't 
expect  me  to  believe  that !  It  is  n't  a  stage-play." 

Cummings  :  "  Indeed,  indeed,  I  tell  you  the  mis- 
erable truth." 

Bartlett :  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  this  is  the 
young  girl  who  was  jilted  in  that  way  ?  Who  — 
Do  you  mean  —  Do  you  intend  to  tell  me  — 
Do  you  suppose  —  Cummings  "  — 

Cummings :  "  Yes,  yes,  yes  !  " 

Bartlett :  "  Why,  man,  she  's  in  Paris,  according 
to  your  own  showing  ! " 

Cummings:  "She  was  in  Paris  three  weeks  ago. 
They  have  just  brought  her  home,  to  help  her  hide 
her  suffering,  as  if  it  were  her  shame,  from  all  who 
know  it.  They  are  in  this  house  by  chance,  but 
they  are  here.  I  mean  what  I  say.  You  must  be- 
lieve it,  shocking  and  wild  as  it  is." 

Bartlett,  after  a  prolonged  silence  in  which  he 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  49 

seems  trying  to  realize  the  fact:  "If  you  were  a 
man  capable  of  such  a  ghastly  joke  —  but  that's 
impossible."  He  is  silent  again,  as  before.  "And 
I  —  What  did  you  say  about  me  ?  That  I  look 
like  the  man  who" —  He  stops  and  stares  into 
Cummings's  face  without  speaking,  as  if  he  were 
trying  to  puzzle  the  mystery  out ;  then,  with  fallen 
head,  he  muses  in  a  voice  of  devout  and  reverent 
tenderness :  "  That  —  that  —  broken  —  lily !  Oh  ! " 
With  a  sudden  start  he  flings  his  burden  upon  the 
closed  piano,  whose  hidden  strings  hum  with  the 
blow,  and  advances  upon  Cummings:  "And  you 
can  tell  it?  Shame  on  you!  It  ought  to  be  known 
to  no  one  upon  earth!  And  you  —  you  show  that 
gentle  creature's  death- wound  to  teach  something 
like  human  reason  to  a  surly  dog  like  me?  Oh, 
it's  monstrous!  I  was  n't  worth  it.  Better  have 
let  me  go,  where  I  would,  how  I  would.  What  did 
it  matter  what  I  thought  or  said?  And  I —  I  look 
like  that  devil,  do  I?  I  have  his  voice,  his  face,  his 
movement?  Cummings,  you  've  over-avenged  your- 
self." 

Cummings :  "  Don't  take  it  that  way,  Bartlett. 
4 


50  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

It  is  hideous.  But  I  did  n't  make  it  so,  nor  you. 
It 's  a  fatality,  it  's  a  hateful  chance.  But  you  see 
now,  don't  you,  Bartlett,  how  the  sight  of  you  must 
affect  them,  and  how  anxious  her  father  must  be  to 
avoid  you?  He  most  humbly  asked  your  forgive- 
ness, and  he  hardly  knew  how  to  ask  that  you 
would  not  let  her  see  you  again.  But  I  told  him 
there  could  be  no  question  with  you ;  that  of  course 
you  would  prevent  it,  and  at  once.  I  know  it 's  a 
great  sacrifice  to  expect  you  to  go  "  — 

Harriett :  "  Go  ?  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 
He  breaks  again  from  the  daze  into  which  he  had 
relapsed.  "  If  there  's  a  hole  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  where  I  can  hide  myself  from  them,  I  want 
to  find  it.  What  do  you  think  I'm  made  of? 
Go  ?  I  ought  to  be  shot  away  out  of  a  mortar ; 
I  ought  to  be  struck  away  by  lightning!  Oh,  I 
can't  excuse  you,  Cummings  !  The  indelicacy,  the 
brutality  of  telling  me  that !  No,  no,  —  I  can't 
overlook  it."  He  shakes  his  head  and  walks  away 
from  his  friend ;  then  he  returns,  and  bends  on  him 
a  look  of  curious  inquiry.  "  Am  I  really  such  a 
ruffian  "  —  he  speaks  very  gently,  almost  meekly, 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  51 

now  —  « that  you  did  n't  believe  anything  short  of 
that  would  bring  me  to  my  senses  ?  Who  told 
you  this  of  her  ?  " 

Cummings :  "  Her  father." 

Bartlett :  "  Oh,  that 's  too  loathsome  !  Had  the 
man  no  soul,  no  mercy  ?  Did  he  think  me  such  a 
consummate  beast  that  nothing  less  would  drive  me 
away  ?  Yes,  he  did !  Yes,  I  made  him  think  so  ! 
Oh ! "  He  hangs  his  head  and  walks  away  with  a 
shudder. 

Cummings :  "  I  don't  know  that  he  did  you  that 
injustice  ;  but  I  'm  afraid  /did.  I  was  at  my  wits' 
end." 

Bartlett,  very  humbly :  "  Oh,  I  don't  know  that 
you  were  wrong." 

Cummings :  "  I  suppose  that  his  anxiety  for  her 
life  made  it  comparatively  easy  for  him  to  speak  of 
the  hurt  to  her  pride.  She  can't  be  long  for  this 
world." 

Bartlett :  "  No,  she  had  the  dying  look !  "  After 
a  long  pause,  in  which  he  has  continued  to  wander 
aimlessly  about  the  room :  "  Cummings,  is  it  nec- 
essary that  you  should  tell  him  you  told  me  ?  " 


52  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Cummings :  "  You  know  I  hate  concealments  of 
any  kind,  Bartlett." 

Bartlett :  "  Oh,  well ;  do  it,  then  ! " 

Cummings:  "But  I  don't  know  that  we  shall 
see  him  again  ;  and  even  if  we  do,  I  don't  see  how 
I  can  tell  him  unless  he  asks.  It 's  rather  pain- 
ful." 

Bartlett:  "Well,  take  that  little  sin  on  your 
conscience,  if  you  can.  It  seems  to  me  too  ghastly 
that  I  should  know  what  you  've  told  me  ;  it 's  in- 
decent. Cummings,"  —  after  another  pause,  — 
"  how  does  a  man  go  about  such  a  thing  ?  How 
does  he  contrive  to  tell  the  woman  whose  heart  he 
has  won  that  he  does  n't  care  for  her,  and  break 
the  faith  that  she  would  have  staked  her  life  on  ? 
Oh,  I  know,  —  women  do  such  things,  too ;  but 
it 's  different,  by  a  whole  world's  difference.  A 
man  comes  and  a  man  goes,  but  a  woman  stays. 
The  world  is  before  him  after  that  happens,  and 
we  don't  think  him  much  of  a  man  if  he  can't  get 
over  it.  But  she,  she  has  been  sought  out ;  she 
has  been  made  to  believe  that  her  smile  and  her 
looks  are  heaven,  poor,  foolish,  helpless  idol !  her 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  53 

fears  have  been  laid,  all  her  pretty  maidenly  tradi- 
tions, her  proud  reserves  overcome ;  she  takes  him 
into  her  inmost  soul,  —  to  find  that  his  love  is  a 
lie,  a  lie !  Imagine  it !  She  can't  do  anything. 
She  can't  speak.  She  can't  move  as  long  as  she 
lives.  She  must  stay  where  she  has  been  left,  and 
look  and  act  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  Oh, 
good  Heaven  !  And  I,  /  look  like  a  man  who 
could  do  that ! "  After  a  silence :  "  I  feel  as  if 
there  were  blood  on  me  ! "  He  goes  to  the  piano, 
and  gathering  up  his  things  turns  about  towards 
Cummings  again  :  "  Come,  man ;  I  'm  going.  It 's 
sacrilege  to  stay  an  instant,  —  to  exist." 

Cummings :  "  Don't  take  it  in  that  way,  Bart- 
lett.  I  blame  myself  very  much  for  not  having 
spared  you  in  what  I  said.  I  would  n't  have  told 
you  of  it,  if  I  could  have  supposed  that  an  acci- 
dental resemblance  of  the  sort  would  distress  you 
so." 

Bartlett,  contritely:  "You  had  to  tell  me.  I 
forced  you  to  extreme  measures.  I  'in  quite  wor- 
thy to  look  like  him.  Good  Lord !  I  suppose  I 
should  be  capable  of  his  work."  He  moves  to- 


54  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

wards  the  door  with  his  burden,  but  before  he 
reaches  it  General  Wyatt,  from  the  corridor,  meets 
him  with  an  air  of  confused  agitation.  Bartlett 
halts  awkwardly,  and  some  of  the  things  slip  from 
his  hold  to  the  floor. 


VII. 
GENERAL  WYATT,  CUMMINGS,  and  BARTLETT. 

General  Wyatt :  "  Sir,  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 
He  pronounces  the  civility  with  a  manner  evi- 
dently affected  by  the  effort  to  reconcile  Bartlett's 
offensive  personal  appearance  with  his  own  sense 
of  duty.  "I  —  I  was  sorry  to  miss  you  before ; 
and  now  I  wish  —  Your  friend  "  —  referring  with 
an  inquiring  glance  to  Cummings  —  "  has  explained 
to  you  the  cause  of  our  very  extraordinary  behav- 
ior, and  I  hope  you  "  — 

Bartlett :  "  Mr.  Cummings  has  told  me  that  I 
have  the  misfortune  to  resemble  some  one  with 
whom  you  have  painful  associations.  That  is  quite 
enough  and  entirely  justifies  you.  I  am  going  at 
once,  and  I  trust  you  will  forgive  my  rudeness 
in  absenting  myself  a  moment  ago.  I  have  a  bad 
temper ;  but  I  never  could  forgive  myself  if  I  had 


56  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

forced  my  friend  "  —  he  turns  and  glares  warningly 
at  Cummings,  who  makes  a  faint  pantomime  of. 
conscientious  protest  as  Bartlett  proceeds  — "  to 
hear  anything  more  than  the  mere  fact  from  you. 
No,  no,"  —  as  General  Wyatt  seems  about  to  speak, 
—  "  it  would  be  atrocious  in  me  to  seek  to  go  be- 
hind it.  I  wish  to  know  nothing  more."  Cummings 
gives  signs  of  extreme  unrest  at  being  made  a 
party  to  this  tacit  deception,  and  General  Wyatt, 
striking  his  palms  hopelessly  together,  walks  to 
the  other  end  of  the  room.  Bartlett  touches  the 
fallen  camp-stool  with  his  foot.  "  Cummings,  will 
you  be  kind  enough  to  put  that  on  top  of  this 
other  rubbish?"  He  indicates  his  armful,  and  as 
Cummings  complies,  he  says  in  a  swift,  fierce  whis- 
per :  "  Her  secret  is  mine.  If  you  dare  to  hint 
that  you  've  told  it  to  me,  I  '11  —  I  '11  assault  you 
in  your  own  pulpit."  Then  to  General  Wyatt, 
who  is  returning  toward  him :  "  Good  morning, 
sir." 

General  Wyatt:  "Oh!  Ah!  Stop!  That  is, 
don't  go !  Really,  sir,  I  don't  know  what  to  say. 
I  must  have  seemed  to  you  like  a  madman  a  mo- 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  57 

ment  ago,  and  now  I  Ve  come  to  play  the  fool." 
Bartlett  and  Cummings  look  their  surprise  and 
General  Wyatt  hurries  on :  "I  asked  your  friend 
to  beg  you  to  go  away,  and  now  I  am  here  to  beg 
you  to  remain.  It  's  perfectly  ridiculous,  sir,  I 
know,  and  I  can  say  nothing  in  defense  of  the 
monstrous  liberties  I  have  taken.  Sir,  the  matter 
is  simply  this :  my  daughter's  health  is  so  frail  that 
her  life  seems  to  hang  by  a  thread,  and  I  am  pow- 
erless to  do  anything  against  her  wish.  It  may  be 
a  culpable  weakness,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  When 
I  went  back  to  her  from  seeing  your  friend,  she 
immediately  divined  what  my  mission  had  been, 
and  it  had  the  contrary  effect  from  what  I  had  ex- 
pected. Well,  sir !  Nothing  would  content  her 
but  that  I  should  return  and  ask  you  to  stay.  She 
looks  upon  it  as  the  sole  reparation  we  can  make 
you." 

Bartlett)  gently:  "I  understand  that  perfectly; 
and  may  I  beg  you  to  say  that  in  going  away  I 
thanked  her  with  all  my  heart,  and  ventured  to 
leave  her  my  best  wishes  ?  "  He  bows  as  if  to  go. 

General  Wyatt,  detaining  him:   " Excuse  me  — 


58  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

thanks  —  but  —  but  I  am  afraid  she  will  not  be 
satisfied  with  that.  She  will  be  satisfied  with 
nothing  less  than  your  remaining.  It  is  the  whim 
of  a  sick  child  —  which  I  must  ask  you  to  indulge. 
In  a  few  days,  sir,  I  hope  we  may  be  able  to  con- 
tinue on  our  way.  It  would  be  simply  unbearable 
pain  to  her  to  know  that  we  had  driven  you  away, 
and  you  must  stay  to  show  that  you  have  forgiven 
the  wrong  we  have  done  you." 

Bartlett:  "That 's  nothing,  less  than  nothing. 
But  I  was  thinking  —  I  don't  care  for  myself  in 
the  matter — that  Miss  Wyatt  is  proposing  a  very 
unnecessary  annoyance  for  you  all.  My  friend 
can  remain  and  assure  her  that  I  have  no  feeling 
whatever  about  the  matter,  and  in  the  mean  time 
I  can  remove  —  the  embarrassment  —  of  my  pres- 
ence." 

General  Wyatt:  "Sir,  you  are  very  considerate, 
very  kind.  My  own  judgment  is  in  favor  of  your 
course,  and  yet"  — 

Cummings:  "I  think  my  friend  is  right,  and 
that  when  he  is  gone  "  — 

General  Wyatt :  "  Well,  sir !   well,  sir !   It  may 


An  Extraordinary  Resemblance.  59 

be  the  best  way.  I  think  it  is  the  best.  We  will 
venture  upon  it.  Sir,"  —  to  Bartlett,  —  "may  I 
have  the  honor  of  taking  your  hand?"  Bartlett 
lays  down  his  burden  on  the  piano,  and  gives  his 
hand.  "  Thank  you,  thank  you !  You  will  not  re- 
gret this  goodness.  God  bless  you!  May  you 
always  prosper." 

Bartlett:  "  Good-by ;  and  say  to  Miss  Wyatt"  — 
At  these  words  he  pauses,  arrested  by  an  incom- 
prehensible dismay  in  General  Wyatt's  face,  and 
turning  about  he  sees  Cummings  transfixed  at 
the  apparition  of  Miss  Wyatt  advancing  directly 
toward  himself,  while  her  mother  coming  behind 
her  exchanges  signals  of  helplessness  and  despair 
with  the  General.  The  young  girl's  hair,  thick  and 
bronze,  has  been  heaped  in  hasty  but  beautiful 
masses  on  her  delicate  head;  as  she  stands  with 
fallen  eyes  before  Bartlett,  the  heavy  lashes  lie 
dark  on  her  pale  cheeks,  and  the  blue  of  her  eyes 
shows  through  their  transparent  lids.  She  has  a 
fan  with  which  she  makes  a  weak  pretense  of  play- 
ing, and  which  she  puts  to  her  lips  as  if  to  hide  the 
low  murmur  that  escapes  from  them  as  she  raises 
her  eyes  to  Bartlett's  face. 


VIII. 
CONSTANCE,  MRS.  WYATT,  and  the  others. 

Constance,  with  a  phantom-like  effort  at  hau- 
teur: "I  hope  you  have  been  able  to  forgive  the 
annoyance  we  caused  you,  and  that  you  won't  let 
it  drive  you*away."  She  lifts  her  eyes  with  a  slow 
effort,  and  starts  with  a  little  gasp  as  they  fall 
upon  his  face,  and  then  remains  trembling  before 
him  while  he  speaks.  • 

Bartlett,  reverently :  "  I  am  to  do  whatever  you 
wish.  I  have  no  annoyance  — but  the  fear  that  — 
that"  — 

Constance,  in  a  husky  whisper :  "  Thanks ! "  As 
she  turns  from  him  to  go  back  to  her  mother,  she 
moves  so  frailly  that  he  involuntarily  puts  out  his 
hand. 

Mrs.  Wyatt,  starting  forward :  "No ! "  But  Con- 
stance clutches  his  extended  arm  with  one  of  her 


An  -Extraordinary  ^Resemblance.  61 

pale  hands,  and  staying  herself  for  a  moment  lifts 
her  eyes  again  to  his,  looks  steadily  at  him  with 
her  face  half  turned  upon  him,  and  then,  making  a 
slight,  sidelong  inclination  of  the  head,  releases  his 
arm  and  goes  to  her  mother,  who  supports  her  to 
one  of  the  easy-chairs  and  kneels  beside  her  when 
she  sinks  into  it.  Bartlett,  after  an  instant  of  hesi- 
tation, bows  silently  and  withdraws,  Cummings 
having  already  vanished.  Constance  watches  him 
going,  and  then  hides  her  face  on  her  mother's 
neck. 


II. 

DISTINCTIONS  AND  DIFFERENCES. 


CONSTANCE  and  MRS.  WYATT. 

Constance :  "  And  he  is  still  here  ?  He  is  going 
to  stay  on,  mother  ?  "  She  reclines  in  a  low  fold- 
ing chair,  and  languidly  rests  her  head  against  one 
of  the  pillows  with  which  her  mother  has  propped 
her;  on  the  bright-colored  shawl  which  has  been 
thrown  over  her  lie  her  pale  hands  loosely  holding 
her  shut  fan.  Her  mother  stands  half  across  the 
parlor  from  her,  and  wistfully  surveys  her  work,  to 
see  if  some  touch  may  not  yet  be  added  for  the 
girl's  comfort. 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  u  Yes,  my  child.  He  will  stay. 
He  told  your  father  he  would  stayi" 

Constance :  "  That  's  very  kind  of  him.  He 's 
very  good." 

Mrs.  Wyatt,  seating  herself  before  her  daughter : 
"  Do  you  really  wish  him  to  stay  ?  Remember 
5 


66  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

how  weak  you  are,  Constance.  If  you  are  taking 
anything  upon  yourself  out  of  a  mistaken  sense 
of  duty,  of  compunction,  you  are  not  kind  to  your 
poor  father  or  to  me.  Not  that  I  mean  to  re- 
proach you." 

Constance :  "  Oh,  no.  And  I  am  not  unkind  to 
you  in  the  way  you  think.  I  'm  selfish  enough  in 
wishing  him  to  stay.  I  can't  help  wanting  to  see 
him  again  and  again, —  it's  so  strange,  so  strange. 
All  this  past  week,  whenever  I  've  caught  a  glimpse 

of  him,  it  's  been  like  an  apparition  ;  and  when- 

• 

ever  he  has  spoken,  it  has  been  like  a  ghost  speak- 
ing. But  I  have  n't  been  afraid  since  the  first 

o 

time.  No,  there  's  been  a  dreary  comfort  in  it ; 
you  won't  understand  it ;  I  can't  understand  it  my- 
self; but  I  know  now  why  people  are  glad  to  see 
their  dead  in  dreams.  If  the  ghost  went,  there 
would  be  nothing." 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  Constance,  you  break  my  heart ! " 
Constance :  "  Yes,  I  know  it ;  it 's  because  I  Ve 
none."  She  remains  a  little  space  without  speak- 
ing, while  she  softly  fingers  the  edges  of  the  fan 
lying  in  her  lap.  "  I  suppose  we  shall  become 
more  acquainted,  if  he  stays  ?  " 


Distinctions  and  Differences.  67 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  Why,  not  necessarily,  dear.  You 
need  know  nothing  more  of  him  than  you  do  now. 
He  seems  very  busy,  and  not  in  the  least  inclined 
to  intrude  upon  us.  Your  father  thinks  him  a  little 
odd,  but  very  gentlemanly." 

Constance,  dreamily :  "  I  wonder  what  he  would 
think  if  he  knew  that  the  man  whom  I  would  have 
given  ray  life  did  not  find  my  love  worth  having? 
I  suppose  it  was  worthless ;  but  it  seemed  so 
much  in  the  giving ;  it  was  that  deceived  me.  He 
was  wiser.  Oh,  me  ! "  After  a  silence :  "  Mother, 
why  was  I  so  different  from  other  girls  ?  " 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  So  different,  Constance  ?  You 
were  only  different  in  being  lovelier  and  better 
than  others." 

Constance :  "  Ah,  that 's  the  mistake  !  If  that 
were  true,  it  could  never  have  happened.  Other 
girls,  the  poorest  and  plainest,  are  kept  faith  with , 
but  I  was  left.  There  must  have  been  something 
about  me  that  made  him  despise  me.  Was  I  silly, 
mother  ?  Was  I  too  bold,  too  glad  to  have  him 
care  for  me  ?  I  was  so  happy  that  I  could  n't  help 
showing  it.  May  be  that  displeased  him.  I  must 


68  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

have  been  dull  and  tiresome.  And  I  suppose  I 
was  somehow  repulsive,  and  at  last  he  could  n't 
bear  it  any  longer  and  had  to  break  with  me.  Did 
I  dress  queerly  ?  I  know  I  looked  ridiculous  at 
times  ;  and  people  laughed  at  me  before  him." 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  Oh,  Constance,  Constance !  Can't 
you  understand  that  it  was  his  unworthiness  alone, 
his  wicked  heartlessness  ?  " 

Constance,  with  gentle  slowness  :  "  No,  I  can't 
understand  that.  It  happened  after  we  had  learned 
to  know  each  other  so  well.  If  he  had  been  fickle, 
it  would  have  happened  long  before  that.  It  was 
something  odious  in  me  that  he  did  n't  see  at  first. 
I  have  thought  it  out.  It  seems  strange  now  that 

O  o 

people  could  ever  have  tolerated  me."  Desolately : 
"  Well,  they  have  their  revenge." 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  Their  revenge  on  you,  Constance  ? 
What  harm  did  you  ever  do  them,  my  poor  child  ? 
Oh,  you  must  n't  let  these  morbid  fancies  over- 
come you.  Where  is  our  Constance  that  used  to 
be,  —  our  brave,  bright  girl,  that  nothing  could 
daunt,  and  nothing  could  sadden  ?  " 

Constance,  sobbing :  "  Dead,  dead !  " 


Distinctions  and  Differences.  69 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  I  can't  understand  !  You  are  so 
young  still,  and  with  the  world  all  before  you. 
Why  will  you  let  one  man's  baseness  blacken  it 
all  and  blight  your  young  life  so  ?  "  Where  is  your 
pride,  Constance  ?  " 

Constance  :  "  Pride  ?  What  have  I  to  do  with 
pride  ?  A  thing  like  me ! " 

Mrs.  Wyatt:  "Oh,  child,  you're  pitiless!  It 
seems  as  if  you  took  a  dreadful  pleasure  in  tor- 
turing those  who  love  you." 

Constance  :  "  You  've  said  it,  mother.  I  do.  I 
know  now  that  I  am  a  vampire,  and  that  it  's  my 
hideous  fate  to  prey  upon  those  who  are  dearest  to 
me.  He  must  have  known,  he  must  have  felt  the 
vampire  in  me." 

Mrs.  Wyatt:  "Constance!" 

Constance :  "  But  at  least  I  can  be  kind  to  those 
who  care  nothing  for  me.  Who  is  this  stranger  ? 
He  must  be  an  odd  kind  of  man  to  forgive  us. 

o 

What  is  he,  mother?  —  if  he  is  anything  in  him- 
self; he  seems  to  me  only  a  likeness,  not  a  real- 

ity." 

Mrs.  Wyatt:  "  He  is  a  painter,  your  father  says." 


70  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Mrs.  Wyatt  gives  a  quick  sigh  of  relief,  and  makes 
haste  to  confirm-  the  direction  of  the  talk  away 
from  Constance :  "  He  is  painting  some  landscapes, 
here.  That  friend  of  his  who  went  to-day  is  a 
cousin  of  your  father's  old  friend,  Major  Cum- 
mings.  He  ?s  a  minister." 

Constance :  "  What  is  the  painter's  name  ?  Not 
that  it  matters.  But  I  must  call  him  something  if 
I  meet  him  again." 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  Mr.  Bartlett." 

Constance:  " Oh,  yes,  I  forgot."  She  falls  into 
a  brooding  silence.  u  I  wonder  if  he  will  despise 
me  —  if  he  will  be  like  in  that,  too  ?  "  Mrs.  Wyatt 
sighs  patiently.  "  Why  do  you  mind  what  I  say, 
mother?  I  'm.  not  worth  it.  I  must  talk  on,  or 
else  go  mad  with  the  mystery  of  what  has  been. 
We  were  so  happy ;  he  was  so  good  to  me,  so 
kind ;  there  was  nothing  but  papa's  not  seeming  to 
like  him ;  and  then  suddenly,  in  an  instant,  he 
turns  and  strikes  me  down  !  Yes,  it  was  like  a 
deadly  blow.  If  you  don't  let  me  believe  that  it 
was  because  he  saw  all  at  once  that  I  was  utterly 
unworthy,  I  can't  believe  in  anything." 


Distinctions  and  Differences.  71 

Mrs.  Wyatt  :  "  Hush,  Constance  ;  you  don't 
know  what  you  're  saying." 

Constance :  "  Oh,  I  know  too  well !  And  now 
this  stranger,  who  is  so  like  him  —  who  has  all 
his  looks,  who  has  his  walk,  who  has  his  voice,  — 
won't  he  have  his  insight,  too  ?  I  had  better  show 
myself  for  what  I  am,  at  once  —  weak,  stupid, 
selfish,  false  ;  it  '11  save  me  the  pain  of  being  found 
out.  Pain  ?  Oh,  I  'm  past  hurting  !  Why  do  you 
cry,  mother  ?  I  'm  not  worth  your  tears." 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  You  're  all  the  world  to  us,  Con- 
stance ;  you  know  it,  child.  Your  poor  father  "  — 

Constance  :  "  Does  papa  really  like  me  ?  " 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  «  Constance  !  " 

Constance  :  "  No ;  but  why  should  he  ?  He 
never  liked  him ;  and  sometimes  I  Ve  wondered, 
if  it  was  n't  papa's  not  liking  him  that  first  set 
him  against  me.  Of  course,  it  was  best  he  should 
find  me  out,  but  still  I  can't  keep  from  thinking 
that  if  he  had  never  begun  to  dislike  me !  I  no- 
ticed from  the  first  that  after  papa  had  been  with 
us  he  was  cold  and  constrained.  Mother,  I  had 
better  say  it :  I  don't  believe  I  love  papa  as  I 


72  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

ought.  There  's  something  in  my  heart  —  some 
hardness  —  against  him  when  he  's  kindest  to  me. 
If  he  had  only  been  kinder  to  him"  — 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "Kinder  to  him?    Constance,  you 
drive  me  wild  !     Kind  to  a  wolf,  kind  to  a  snake  ! 

Kind  to  the  thief  who  has   robbed  us  of  all  that 

• 

made  our  lives  dear;  who  stole  your  love,  and 
then  your  hope,  your  health,  your  joy,  your  pride, 
your  peace  !  And  you  think  your  father  might 
have  been  kinder,  to  him  !  Constance,  you  were 
our  little  girl  when  the  war  began,  —  the  last  of 
brothers  and  sisters  that  had  died.  You  seemed 
given  to  our  later  years  to  console  and  comfort  us 
for  those  that  had  been  taken  ;  and  you  were  so 
bright  and  gay  !  All  through  those  dreadful  days 
and  months  and  years  you  were  our  stay  and  hope, 
—  mine  at  home,  his  in  the  field.  Our  letters 
were  full  of  you,  —  like  young  people's  with  their 
first  child  ;  all  that  you  did  and  said  I  had  to  tell 
him,  and  then  he  had  to  talk  it  over  in  his  answers 
back.  When  he  came  home  at  last  after  the  peace 
— •  can  you  remember  it,  Constance  ?  " 

Constance:   "I  can  remember  a  little  girl  that 


Distinctions  and  Differences.  73 

ran  down  the  street,  and  met  an  officer  on  horse- 
back. He  was  all  tanned  and  weather-beaten ;  he 
sat  his  horse  at  the  head  of  his  troop  like  a  statue 
of  bronze.  When  he  saw  her  come  running,  dan- 
cing down  the  street,  he  leaped  from  his  horse  and 
caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  hugged  her  close  and 
kissed  her,  and  set  her  all  crying  and  laughing  in 
his  saddle,  and  walked  on  beside  her;  and  the  men 
burst  out  with  a  wild  yell,  and  the  ragged  flags 
flapped,  over  her,  and  the  music  flashed  out"  — 
She  rises  in  her  chair  with  the  thrill  of  her  recol- 
lection ;  her  voice  comes  free  and  full,  and  her  pale 
cheeks  flush ;  suddenly  she  sinks  back  upon  the  pil- 
lows: "Was  it  really  I,  mother?" 

Mrs.  Wyatt:  "Yes,  it  was  you,  Constance.  And 
do  you  remember  all  through  your  school-days, 
how  proud  and  fond  he  was  of  you?  what  presents 
and  feasts  and  pleasures  he  was  always  making 
you?  I  thought  he  would  spoil  you;  he  took  you 
everywhere  with  him,  and  wanted  to  give  you 
everything.  When  I  saw  you  growing  up  with 
his  pride  and  quick  temper,  I  trembled,  but  I  felt 
safe  when  I  saw  that  you  had  his  true  and  tender 


74  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

heart,  too.  You  can  never  know  what  a  pang  it 
cost  him  to  part  with  you  when  we  went  abroad, 
but  you  can't  forget  how  he  met  you  in  Paris?" 

Constance:   "Oh,  no,  no!    Poor  papa!" 

Mrs.Wyatt:  "Oh,  child!  Arid  I  could  tell  you 
something  of  his  bitter  despair  when  he  saw  the 
man"  — 

Constance,  wearily :  "  You  need  n't  tell  me.  I 
knew  it  as  soon  as  they  met,  without  looking  at 
either  of  them." 

Mrs.  Wyatt:  "And  when  the  worst  that  he 
feared  came  true,  he  was  almost  glad,  I  believe. 
He  thought,  and  I  thought,  that  your  self-respect 
would  come  to  your  aid  against  such  treachery." 

Constance:  "My  self-respect?  Now  I  know 
you  've  not  been  talking  of  me." 

Mrs.Wyatt,  desperately:  "Oh,  what  shall  I  do?" 

Mary,  the  serving- woman,  at  the  door:  "If  you 
please,  Mrs.  Wyatt,  I  can't  open  Miss  Constance's 
hat-box." 

Mrs.  Wyatt,  rising :  "  Oh,  yes.  There  's  some- 
thing the  matter  with  the  lock.  I  '11  come,  Mary." 
She  looks  at  Constance. 


Distinctions  and  Differences.  75 

Constance:  "Yes,  go,  mother.  I  'm  perfectly 
well  here.  I  like  being  alone  well  enough."  As 
Mrs.  Wyatt,  after  a  moment's  reluctance,  goes  out, 
the  girl's  heavy  eyelids  fall,  and  she  lies  motionless 
against  her  pillows,  while  the  fan,  released  from 
her  careless  hold,  slides  slowly  over  the  shawl,  and 
drops  with  a  light  clash  upon  the  floor.  She  starts 
at  the  sound,  and  utters  a  little  involuntary  cry  at 
sight  of  Bartlett,  who  stands  irresolute  in  the  door- 
way on  her  right.  He  makes  as  if  to  retreat,  but 
at  a  glance  from  her  he  remains. 


II. 

BARTLETT  and  CONSTANCE. 

Bartlett,  with  a  sort  of  subdued  gruffness : 
"  1  'm  afraid  I  disturbed  you." 

Constance,  passively:  "No,  I  think  it  was  my 
fan.  It  fell." 

Bartlett:  "I  *m  glad  I  can  lay  the  blame  on  the 
fan."  He  comes  abruptly  forward  and  picks  it  up 
for  her.  She  makes  no  motion  to  receive  it,  and 
he  lays  it  on  her  lap. 

Constance,  starting  from  the  abstraction  in  which 
she  has  been  gazing  at  him:  "Oh!  Thanks." 

Bartlett,  with  constraint :  "  I  hope  you  're  better 
this  morning?  " 

Constance :  "  Yes."  She  has  again  fallen  into 
a  dreamy  study  of  him,  as  unconscious,  apparently, 
as  if  he  were  a  picture  before  her,  the  effect  of 
which  is  to  reduce  him  to  a  state  of  immovable 


Distinctions  and  Differences.  77 

awkwardness.  At  last  he  tears  himself  loose  from 
the  spot  on  which  he  has  been  petrifying,  and  takes 
refuge  in  the  business  which  has  brought  him  into 
the  room. 

Bartlett :  "  I  came  to  look  for  one  of  my  brushes. 
It  must  have  dropped  out  of  my  traps  here,  the 
other  day."  He  goes  up  to  the  piano  and  looks 
about  the  floor,  while  Constance's  gaze  follows  him 
in  every  attitude  and  movement.  "  Ah,  here  it  is ! 
I  knew  it  would  escape  the  broom  under  the  land- 
lady's relaxed  regime.  If  you  happen  to  drop 
anything  in  this  room,  Miss  Wyatt,  you  need  n't 
be  troubled;  you  can  always  find  it  just  where  it 
fell."  Miss  Wyatt's  fan  again  slips  to  the  floor, 
and  Bartlett  again  picks  it  up  and  restores  it  to 
her:  "A  case  in  point." 

Constance,  blushing  faintly :  "  Don't  do  it  for 
me.  It  is  n't  worth  while." 

Bartlett,  gravely :  "  It  does  n't  take  a  great  deal 
of  time,  and  the  exercise  does  me  good."  Con- 
stance faintly  smiles,  but  does  not  relax  her  vigi- 
lance. "Isn't  that  light  rather  strong  for  you?" 
He  goes  to  the  glass  doors  opening  on  the  balcony, 
and  offers  to  draw  down  one  of  their  shades. 


78  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Constance :    "  It  does  n't  make   any  difference." 

Bartlett,  bluffly :  '*  If  it 's  disagreeable  it  makes 
some  difference.  Is  it  disagreeable  ?  " 

Constance  :  "  The  light 's  strong  "  —  Bartlett 
dashes  the  curtain  down  — "  but  I  could  see  the 
mountain."  He  pulls  the  curtain  up. 

Bartlett :  "  I  beg  your  pardon."  He  again  falls 
into  statue-like  discomposure  under  Miss  Wyatt's 
gaze,  which  does  not  seek  the  distant  slopes  of 
Ponkwasset,  in  spite  of  the  lifted  curtain. 

Constance :  "  What  is  the  name  ?  Do  you 
know  ?  " 

Bartlett:  "Whose?  Oh!  Ponkwasset.  It 'snot 
a  pretty  name,  but  it 's  aboriginal.  And  it  does  n't 
hurt  the  mountain."  Kecovering  a  partial  volition, 
he  shows  signs  of  a  purpose  to  escape,  when  Miss 
Wyatt's  next  question  arrests  him. 

Constance:  "Are  you  painting  it,  Mr.  —  Bart- 
lett?" 

Bartlett,  with  a  laugh :  "  Oh,  no,  I  don't  soar  so 
high  as  mountains;  I  only  lift  my  eyes  to  a  tree 
here  and  there,  and  a  bit  of  pasture  and  a  few  of 
the  lowlier  and  friendlier  sort  of  rocks."  He  now 


Distinctions  and  Differences.  79 

so  far  effects  his  purpose  as  to  transfer  his  un- 
wieldly  presence  to  a  lateral  position  as  regards 
Miss  Wyatt.  The  girl  mechanically  turns  her 
head  upon  the  pillow  and  again  fixes  her  sad  eyes 
upon  him. 

Constance :  "  Have  you  ever  been  up  it  ?  " 
Harriett :  "  Yes,  half  a  dozen  times." 
Constance:  "  Is  it  hard  to  climb  —  like  the  Swiss 
mountains?" 

Bartlett:  "  You  must  speak  for  the  Swiss  moun- 
tains after  you  've  tried  Ponkwasset,  Miss  Wyatt. 
I  've  never  been  abroad." 

Constance,  her  large  eyes  dilating  with  surprise: 
"  Never  been  abroad  ?  " 

Harriett ;  "  I  enjoy  that  distinction." 
Constance:    "Oh!    I    thought    you    had    been 
abroad."     She  speaks  with  a  slow,  absent,  earnest, 
accent,  regarding  him,  as  always,  with   a  look  of 
wistful  bewilderment. 

Harriett,  struggling  uneasily  for  his  habitual 
lightness:  "I'm  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  Miss 
Wyatt.  I  will  go  abroad  as  soon  as  possible. 
I  'm  going  out  in  a  boat  this  morning  to  work  at  a 


80  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

bit  on  the  point  of  the  island  yonder,  and  I  '11  take 
lessons  in  sea-faring."  Bartlett,  managing  at  last 
to  get  fairly  behind  Miss  Wyatt's  chair,  indulges 
himself  in  a  long,  low  sigh  of  relief,  and  taking 
out  his  handkerchief  rubs  his  face  with  it. 

Constance,  with  sudden,  meek  compunction : 
"  I  've  been  detaining  you." 

Bartlett,  politely  coming  forward  again:  "Oh, 
no,  not  at  all !  I'm  afraid  I've  tired  you" 

Constance :  "  No,  I  'in  glad  to  have  you  stay." 
In  the  unconscious  movement  necessary  to  follow 
Bartlett  in  his  changes  of  position,  the  young  girl 
has  loosened  one  of  the  pillows  that  prop  her  head. 
It  slowly  disengages  itself  and  drops  to  the  floor. 
Bartlett,  who  has  been  crushing  his  brush  against 
the  ball  of  his  thumb,  gives  a  start  of  terror,  and 
looks  from  Constance  to  the  pillow,  and  back  again 
to  Constance  in  despair. 

Constance :  "  Never  mind."  She  tries  to  adjust 
her  head  to  the  remaining  pillows,  and  then  desists 
in  evident  discomfort. 

Bartlett,  in  great  agony  of  spirit :  "  I  —  I  'm 
afraid  you  miss  it." 


Distinctions  and  Differences.  81 

Constance:  "  Oh,  no." 

Bartlett:  "Shall  I  call  your  mother,  Miss  Wy- 
att?" 

Constance:  "No.  Oh,  no.  She  will  be  here 
presently,  Thank  you  so  much/'  Bartlett  eyes 
the  pillow  in  renewed  desperation. 

Bartlett :  "  Do  you  think  —  do  you  suppose  I 
could" —  Recklessly:  "Miss  Wyatt,  let  me  put 
back  that  pillow  for  you!" 

Constance,  promptly,  with  a  little  flush:  "Why, 
you  're  very  good!  I  'm  ashamed  to  trouble  you." 
As  she  speaks,  she  raises  her  head,  and  lifts  her- 
self forward  slightly  by  help  of  the  chair-arms;  two 
more  pillows  topple  out,  one  on  either  side,  un- 
known to  her. 

Bartlett)  maddened  by  the  fresh  disaster:  "Good 
Lord!"  He  flings  himself  wildly  upon  the  first 
pillow,  and  crams  it  into  the  chair  behind  Miss 
Wyatt;  then  without  giving  his  courage  time  to 
flag,  he  seizes  the  others,  and  packs  them  in  on  top 
of  it:  "Will  that  do?"  He  stands  hot  and  flushed, 
looking  down  upon  her,  as  she  makes  a  gentle  at- 
tempt to  adjust  herself  to  the  mass. 
G 


82  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Constance:  "Oh,  perfectly."  She  puts  her  hand 
behind  her  and  feebly  endeavors  to  modify  Bart- 
lett's  arrangement. 

Bartlett:  "What  is  it?" 

Constance:    "Oh  —  nothing.     Ah  — would  — 

o 

would  you  draw,  tills  one  a  little  —  toward  you? 
So !  Thanks.  And  that  one  —  out  a  little  on  the 
—  other  side?  You're  very  kind;  that 's  right. 
And  this  one  under  my  neck  —  lift  it  up  a  little? 
Ah,  thank  you  ever  so  much."  Bartlett,  in  a  fine 
frenzy,  obeying  these  instructions,  Miss  Wyatt  at 
last  reposes  herself  against  the  pillows,  looks  up 
into  his  embarrassed  face,  and  deeply  blushes ; 
then  she  turns  suddenly  white,  and  weakly  catch- 
ing up  her  fan  she  passes  it  once  or  twice  before 
her  face,  and  lets  it  fall :  "  I  'm  a  little  - —  faint." 
Bartlett  seizes  the  fan,  and  after  a  moment  of 
silent  self-dedication  kneels  down  beside  her  chair, 
and  fans  her. 

Constance,  after  a  moment ;  "  Thanks,  thanks. 
You  are  very  good.  I  'm  better  now.  I  'm 
ashamed  to  have  troubled  you.  But  I  seem  to  live 
only  to  give  trouble." 


Distinctions  and  Differences.  S3 

Bartlett,  with  sudden  deep  tenderness ;  "Oh, 
Miss.  Wyatt,  you  must  n't  say  that.  I  'm  sure  I  — 
we  all  — that  is. —  shall  I  call  your  mother  now^ 
Miss  Wyatt?" 

Constance,  after  a  deep  breath,  firmly:  "No. 
I  'in  quite  well,  now.  She  is  busy.  But  I  know 
I  'm  keeping  you  from  your  work,"  —  with  ever 
so  slight  a  wan  little  smile.  "I  must  n't  do  that." 

Bartlett:  "Oh,  you  're  not  keeping  me!  There's 
no  hurry.  I  can  work  later  just  as  well." 

Constance:  "Then,"  —  with  a  glance  at  his  de- 
vout posture,  of  which  Bartlett  has  himself  become 
quite  unconscious,  —  "won't  you  sit  down,  Mr. 
Bartlett  ?  " 

Bartlett,  restored  to  consciousness  and  con- 
fusion: "Thanks;  I  think  it  will  be  better."  He 
rises,  and  in  his  embarrassment  draws  a  chair  to 
the  spot  on  which  he  has  been  kneeling  and  sits 
down  very  close  to  her.  He  keeps  the  fan  in  his 
hand,  as  he  talks :  "  It 's  rather  nice  out  there, 
Miss  Wyatt,  —  there  on  the  island.  You  must  be 
rowed  out  as  soon  as  you  can  stand  it.  The  Gen- 
eral would  like  it." 


84  A  Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Constance:  "Is  it  a  large  place,  the  island?" 
Bartlett :  "  About  two  acres,  devoted  exclusively 
to  golden-rod  and  granite.  The  fact  is,  I  was 
going  to  make  a  little  study  of  golden-rod  and 
granite,  there.  You  shall  visit  the  Fortunate  Isle 
in  my  sketch,  this  afternoon,  and  see  whether 
you  M  like  to  go,  really.  People  camp  out  there 
in  the  summer.  Who  knows,  but  if  you  keep  on 

—  gaining — this  way,  you  may  yet  feel  like  camp- 
ing out  there  yourself  before  you  go  away?     You 
do    begin   to  feel  better,  don't  you?     Everybody 
cries  up  this  air." 

Constance:  "It's  very  pleasant;  it  seems  fine 
and  pure.  Is  the  island  a  pretty  place  ?  " 

Bartlett,  glancing  out  at  it  over  his  shoulder: 
"  Well,  you  get  the  best  of  it  from  the  parlor  win- 
dow, here.  Not  that  it 's  so  bad  when  you  're  on 
it ;  there 's  a  surly,  frugal,  hard-headed  kind  of 
beauty  about  it, — like  the  local  human  nature, — 
and  it  has  its  advantages.  If  you  were  camping 
out  there,  you  could  almost  provision  yourself  from 
the  fish  and  wild  fowl  of  the  surrounding  waters, 

—  supposing  any  of  your  party   liked  to  fish   or 
shoot.     Does  your  father  like  shooting?" 


Distinctions  and  Differences.  85 

Constance:  "No,  I  don't  believe  he  cares  for  it." 

Bartlett:  "I'm  glad  of  that.  I  shall  be  spared 
the  painful  hospitality  of  pointing  out  the  best 
places  for  ducks."  At  an  inquiring  look  from  Con- 
stance:  "I'm  glad  for  their  sakes,  not  mine;  1 
don't  want  to  kill  them." 

Constance,  with  grave  mistrust :  "  Not  like  shoot- 
ing?" 

JBartlett:  "  No,  I  think  it 's  the  sneakingest  sort 
of  assassination ;  it 's  the  pleasure  of  murder  with- 
out the  guilt.  If  you  must  kill,  you  ought  to  be 
man  enough  to  kill  something  that  you'll  suffer 
remorse  for.  Do  you  consider  those  atrocious  sen- 
timents, Miss  Wyatt?  I  assure  you  that  they're 
entirely  my  own." 

Constance,  blankly :  "  I  was  n't  thinking  —  I 
was  thinking —  I  supposed  you  liked  shooting." 

Bartlett,  laughing  uneasily :  "  How  did  you  get 
that  impression  ?  " 

Constance,  evasively:  "I  thought  all  gentlemen 
did." 

Bartlett:  "They  do,  in  this  region.  It's  the 
only  thing  that  can  comfort  them  in  affliction.  The 


86  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

other  day  our  ostler's  brother  lost  his  sweetheart, 
—  she  died,  poor  girl,  —  and  the  ostler  and  another 
friend  had  him  over  here  to  cheer  him  up.  They 
took  him  to  the  stable,  and  whittled  round  among 
the  stalls  with  him  half  the  forenoon,  and  let  him 
rub  down  some  of  the  horses ;  they  stood  him  out 
among  the  vegetables  and  let  him  gather  some  of  the 
new  kind  of  potato-bugs ;  they  made  him  sit  in  the 
office  with  his  feet  on  top  of  the  stove ;  they  played 
billiards  with  him ;  but  he  showed  no  signs  of  res- 
ignation till  they  borrowed  three  squirrel-guns  and 
started  with  him  to  the  oak  woods  yonder.  That 
seemed  to  <  fetch'  him.  You  should  have  seen  them 
trudging  off  together  with  their  guns  all  aslant, — 
this  way,  —  the  stricken  lover  in  the  middle ! "  Bart- 
lett  rises  to  illustrate,  and  then  at  the  deepening 
solemnity  of  Constance's  face  he  desists  in  sudden 
dismay:,  "Miss  Wyatt,  I've  shocked  you!" 

Constance:  "  Oh,  no  — no  !" 

Bartlett :  "  It  was  shocking.  I  wonder  how  I 
could  do  it!  I — I  thought  it  would  amuse  you." 

Constance,  mournfully  :  "It  did,  thank  you,  very 
much."  After  a  pause :  "  I  did  n't  know  you  liked 
— joking." 


Distinctions  and  Differences.  87 

Bartlett:  "  Ah !  I  don't  believe  I  do  —  all  kinds.: 
Good  Lord— I  beg  your  pardon."  Bartlett  turns 
away,  with  an  air  of  guilty  consciousness,  and  goes 
to  the  window  and  looks  out,  Constance's  gaze  fol- 
lowing him:  "It 's  a  wonderful  day!"  He  comes 
back  toward  her :  "What  a  pity  you  could  n't  be 
carried  there  in  your  chair!" 

Constance:  "I'm  not  equal  to  that,  yet."  Pres- 
ently :  "  Then  you — like— nature  ?  " 

JSartlett :  "  Why,  that 's  mere  shop  in  a  landscape 
painter.  I  get  my  bread  and  butter  by  her.  At 
least  I  ought  to  have  some  feeling  of  gratitude." 

Constance,  hastily :  "  Of  course,  of  course.  It  V 
very  stupid  of  me,  asking." 

Bartlett,  with  the  desperate  intention  of  grappling 
with  the  situation :  "  I  see  you  have  a  passion  for 
formulating,  classifying  people,  Miss  Wyatt.  That 's 
all  very  well,  if  one's  characteristics  were  not  so 
very  characteristic  of  everybody  else.  But  I  gen- 
erally find  in  my  moments  of  self-consciousness, 
when  I've  gone  round  priding  myself  that  such 
and  such  traits  are  my  peculiar  property,  that  the 
first  man  I  meet  has  them  all  and  as  many  more^ 


83  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

and  is  n't  the  least  proud  of  them.  I  dare  say  you 
don't  see  anything  very  strange  in  them,  so  far." 

Constance,  musingly  :  "  Oh,  yes ;  very  strange 
indeed.  They  're  all  —  wrong !  " 

Bartlett:  "Well!  I  don't  know— I'm  very 
sorry  —  Then  you  consider  it  wrong  not  to  like 
shooting  and  to  be  fond  of  joking  and  nature, 
and"  — 

Constance,  bewilderedly  :  "  Wrong  ?     Oh,  no  ! " 

Bartlett :  "  Oh,  I  'm  glad  to  hear  it.  But  you 
just  said  it  was." 

Constance,  slowly  recalling  herself,  with  a  painful 
blush,  at  last :  "  I  meant  —  I  meant  I  did  n't  ex- 
pect any  of  those  things  of  you." 

Bartlett,  with  a  smile:  "Well,  on  reflection,  I 
don't  know  that  I  did,  either.  I  think  they  must 
have  come  without  being  expected.  Upon  my 
word,  I'm  tempted  to  propose  something  very 
ridiculous." 

Constance,  uneasily  :  "  Yes  ?     What  is  that  ?  " 

Bartlett:  "That  you '11  let  me  try  to  guess  you 
out.  I  Ve  failed  so  miserably  in  my  own  case,  that 
I  feel  quite  encouraged." 


Distinctions  and  Differences.  80 

Constance,  morbidly  :  "  I  'm  not  worth  the  trouble 
of  guessing  out." 

Bartlett :  4'  That  means  no.  You  always  mean 
no  by  yes,  because  you  can't  bear  to  say  no.  That 
is  the  mark  of  a  very  deep  and  darkling  nature. 
I  feel  that  I  could  go  on  and  read  your  mind  per- 
fectly, but  I  'm  afraid  to  do  it.  Let 's  get  back  to 
myself.  I  can't  allow  that  you've  failed  to  read 
my  mind  aright ;  I  think  you  were  careless  about  it. 
Will  you  give  your  intuitions  one  more  chance  ?  " 

Constance,  with  an  anxious  smile  :  "  Oh,  yes." 

Bartlett :  "  All  those  traits  and  tastes  which  we 
both  find  so  unexpected  in  me  are  minor  matters  at 
the  most.  The  great  test  question  remains.  If 
you  answer  it  rightly,  you  prove  yourself  a  mind- 
reader  of  wonderful  power ;  if  you  miss  it  —  The 
question  is  simply  this :  Do  I  like  smoking  ?  " 

Constance,  instantly,  with  a  quick,  involuntary 
pressure  of  her  handkerchief  to  her  delicate  nos- 
trils :  "  Oh,  yes,  indeed  ! " 

Bartlett,  daunted  and  reddening :  "  Miss  Wyatt, 
you  have  been  deluding  me.  You  are  really  a 
mind-reader  of  great  subtlety." 


90  A    Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Constance:  "I  don't  know  —  I  can't  say  that  it 
was  mind-reading  exactly."  She  lifts  her  eyes  to 
his,  and  in  his  embarrassment  he  passes  his  hand 
over  his  forehead  and  then  feels  first  in  one  pocket 
and  then  in  the  other  for  his  handkerchief;  sud- 
denly he  twitches  it  forth,  and  with  it  a  pipe,  half 
a  dozen  cigars,  and  a  pouch  of  smoking  tobacco, 
which  fly  in  different  directions  over  the  floor.  As 
he  stoops  in  dismay  and  sweeps  together  these 
treasures,  she  cries:  "Oh,  it  didn't  need  all  that  to 
prove  it ! "  and  breaks  into  a  wild,  helpless  laugh, 
and  striving  to  recover  herself  with  many  little 
moans  and  sighs  behind  her  handkerchief,  laughs 
on  and  on:  "Oh,  don't!  I  ought  n't !  Oh  dear,  oh 
dear  !  "  When  at  last  she  lies  spent  with  her  re* 
luctant  mirth,  and  uncovers  her  face,  Bartlett  is 
gone,  and  it  is  her  mother  who  stands  over  her, 
looking  down  at  her  with  affectionate  misgiving. 


^  U  III. 

MRS.  WYATT  and  CONSTANCE. 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  Laughing,  Constance  ?  " 

Constance,  with  a  burst  of  indignant  tears  :  "  Yes, 
yes!  Is  n't  it  shocking?  It's  horrible!  He  made 
me." 

Mrs.  Wyatt:  "He?" 

Constance,  beginning  to  laugh  again:  "Mr. 
Bartlett;  he's  been  here.  Oh,  I  wish  I  would  n't 
be  so  silly  ! " 

Mrs.  Wyatt:  "  Made  you  ?  How  could  he  make 
you  laugh,  poor  child  ?  " 

Constance :  "  Oh,  it's  a  long  story.  It  was  all 
through  my  bewilderment  at  his  resemblance.  It,, 
confused  me.  I  kept  thinking  it  wag  he,  —  as  if  it 
were  some  dream,  —  and  whenever  this  one  men- 
tioned some  trait  of  his  that  totally  differed  from 
his,  don't  you  know,  I  got  more  and  more  confused,* 


92  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

and  —  mamma  !  "  —  with  sudden  desolation  —  "I 
know  he  knows  all  about  it ! " 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  I  am  sure  he  does  n't.  Mr.  Cum- 
min gs  only  told  him  that  his  resemblance  was  a 
painful  association.  He  assured  your  father  of 
this,  and  would  n't  hear  a  word  more.  I  'm  cer- 
tain you  're  wrong.  But  what  made  you  think  he 
knows  ?  " 

Constance,  solemnly :  "  He  behaved  just  as  if  he 
did  n't." 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  Ah,  you  can't  judge  from  that,  my 
dear."  Impressively :  "  Men  are  very  different." 

Constance,  doubtfully :  "  Do  you  think  so,  mam- 
ma?" 

Mrs.  Wyatt:    "  I  'm  certain  of  it." 

Constance,  after  a  pause :  "  Mamma,  will  you 
help  take  this  shawl  off  my  feet  ?  I  am  so  warm. 
I  think  I  should  like  to  walk  about  a  little.  Can 
you  see  the  island  from  the  gallery  ?  " 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  Do  you  think  you  M  better  try  to 
leave  your  chair,  Constance?" 

Constance :  "  Yes,  I  'm  stronger  this  morning. 
And  I  shall  never  gain,  lounging  about  this  way.'7 


Distinctions  and  Differences.  93 

She  begins  to  loose  the  wraps  from  her  feet,  and 
Mrs.  Wyatt  coming  doubtfully  to  her  aid  she  is 
presently  freed.  She  walks  briskly  toward  the 
sofa,  and  sits  down  quite  erectly  in  the  corner  of  it. 
"There!  that 's  pleasanter.  I  get  so  tired  of  be- 
ing a  burden."  She  is  silent,  and  then  she  begins 
softly  and  wearily  to  laugh  again. 

Mrs.  Wyatt,  smiling  curiously:  "What  is  it,  Con- 
stance ?  I  don't  at  all  understand  what  made  you 
laugh." 

Constance:  "Why,  don't  you  know?  Several 
times  after  I  had  been  surprised  that  he  did  n't  like 
this  thing,  and  had  ri't  that  habit  and  the  other,  he 
noticed  it,  and  pretended  that  it  was  an  attempt  at 
mind-reading,  and  then  all  at  once  he  turned  and 
said  I  must  try  once  more,  and  he  asked,  <  Do  I 
like  smoking?'  and  I  said  instantly,  40h,  yes!' 
Why,  it  was  like  having  a  whole  tobacconist's 
shop  in  the  same  room  with  you  from  the  moment 
he  came  in ;  and  of  course  he  understood  what  I 
meant,  and  blushed,  and  then  felt  for  his  handker- 
chief, and  pulled  it  out,  and  discharged  a  perfect 
volley  of  pipes  and  tobacco,  that  seemed  to  be 


94  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

tangled  up  in  it,  all  over  the  floor,  and  then  I  be- 
gan to  laugh  —  so  silly,  so  disgusting,  so  perfectly 
flat!  and  I  thought  I  should  die,  it  was  so  ridic- 
ulous !  and  —  Oh,  dear,  I  'm  beginning  again ! " 
She  hides  her  face  in  her  handkerchief  and  leans 
her  head  on  the  back  of  the  sofa:  "Say  some- 
thing, do  something  to  stop  me,  mother!"  She 
stretches  an  imploring  left  hand  toward  the  elder 
lady,  who  still  remains  apparently  but  half  con- 
vinced of  any  reason  for  mirth,  when  General 
Wyatt,  hastily  entering,  pauses  in  abrupt  irresolu- 
tion at  the  spectacle  of  Constance's  passion. 


IV. 
GENERAL  WYATT,  CONSTANCE,  and  MRS.  WYATT. 


Constance:  "Oh,  ha,  ha,  ha!  Oh,  ha,  ha,  ha, 
ha!"  , 

General  Wyatt:  "Margaret!  Constance!"  At 
the  -sound  of  his  voice,  Constance  starts  up  with  a 
little  cry,  and  stiffens  into  an  attitude  of  ungracious 
silence,  without  looking  at  her  father,  who  turns 
with  an  expression  of  pain  toward  her  mother. 
.  Mrs.  Wyatt:  "Yes,  James.  We  were  laughing 
at  something  Constance  had  been  telling  me  about 
Mr.  Bartlett.  Tell  your  father,  Constance." 

Constance^ coldly,  while  she  draws  through  her 
hand  the  handkerchief  which  she  has  been  pressing 
to  her  eyes:  "I  don't  think  it  would  amuse  papa." 
She  passes  her  hand  across  her  lap,  and  does  not 
lift  her  heavy  eyelashes. 

Mrs.  Wyatt,  caressingly:  "Oh,  yes,  it  would; 
I  'm  sure  it  would." 


96  A  Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Constance:   "You  can  tell  it  then,  mamma." 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  No ;  you,  my  dear.  You  tell  it  so 
funnily;  and"  —  in  a  lower  tone  —  "it's  so  long 
since  your  father  heard  you  laugh." 

Constance:  "There  was  nothing  funny  in  it.  It 
was  disgusting.  I  was  laughing  from  nervousness." 

Mrs.  Wyatt:  "Why,  Constance"  — 

General  Wyatt:  Never  mind,  Margaret.  An- 
other time  will  do."  He  chooses  to  ignore  the  cold- 
ness of  his  daughter's  bearing  toward  himself.  "I 
came  to  see  if  Constance  were  not  strong  enough 
to  go  out  on  the  lake  this  morning.  The  boats  are 
very  good,  and  the  air  is  so  fine  that  I  think  she  '11 
be  the  better  for  it.  Mr.  Bartlett  is  going  out  to 
the  island  to  sketch,  and  "  — 

Constance :  "  I  don't  care  to  go." 

Mrs.  Wyatt:  "  Do  go,  my  daughter!  I  know  it 
will  do  you  good." 

Constance :  "  I  am  not  strong  enough." 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  But  you  said  you  were  better, 
just  now  ;  and  you  should  yield  to  your  father's 
judgment." 

Constance :  "  I  will  do  whatever  papa  bids  me." 


Distinctions  and  Differences.  97 

General  Wyatt:  "I  don't  bid  you.  Margaret,  I 
think  I  will  go  out  with  Mr.  Bartlett.  We  will  be 
back  at  dinner."  He  turns  and  leaves  the  room 
without  looking  again  at  Constance. 


V. 

CONSTANCE  and  MRS.  WYATT  ;  then  BARTLETT. 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  Oh,  Constance  !  How  can  you 
treat  your  father  so  coldly  ?  You  will  suffer  some 
day  for  the  pain  you  give  him  !  " 

Constance :  "  Suffer  ?  No,  I  'm  past  that.  I  Ve 
exhausted  my  power  of  suffering."  9 

Mrs.  Wyatt:  "You  haven't  exhausted  your 
power  of  making  others  suffer." 

Constance,  crouching  listlessly  down  upon  the 
sofa:  "I  told  you  that  I  lived  only  to  give  pain. 
But  it 's  my  fate,  not  my  will.  Nothing  but  that 
can  excuse  me." 

Mrs.  Wyatt,  wringing  her  hands  :  "  Oh,  oh  !  Well, 
then,  give  me  pain  if  you  must  torment  somebody. 
But  spare  your  father,  —  spare  the  heart  that  loves 
you  so  tenderly,  you  unhappy  girl." 

Constance,   with   hardness :    "  Whenever   I   see 


Distinctions  and  Differences.  99 

papa,  my  first  thought  is,  If  he  had  not  been  so 
harsh  and  severe,  it  might  never  have  happened  ! 
What  can  I  care  for  his  loving  me  when  he  hated 
him  ?  Oh,  /  will  do  my  duty,  mother ;  /  will 
obey ;  I  have  obeyed,  and  I  know  how.  Papa 
can't  demand  anything  of  me  now  that  is  n't  easy. 
I  have  forgiven  everything,  and  if  you  give  me 
time  I  can  forget.  I  have  forgotten.  I  have  been 
laughing  at  something  so  foolish,  it  ought  to  make 
me  cry  for  shame." 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  Constance,  you  try  me  beyond  all 
endurance !  You  talk  of  forgiving,  you  talk  of 
forgetting,  you  talk  of  that  wretch  !  Forgive  him, 
forget  him,  if  you  can.  If  he  had  been  half  a  man, 
if  he  had  ever  cared  a  tithe  as  much  for  you  as  for 
himself,  all  the  hate  of  all  the  fathers  in  the  world 
could  not  have  driven  him  from  you.  You  talk  of 
obeying  "  • — 

Mary,  the  serving  woman,  flying  into  the  room : 
"  Oh,  please,  Mrs.  Wyatt !  There  are  four  men 
carrying  somebody  up  the  hill.  And  General  Wy- 
att just  went  down,  and  I  can't  see  him  anywhere, 
and  "  — 


100  A  Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  You  're  crazy,  Mary  !  He  has  n't 
been  gone  a  moment ;  there  is  n't  time  ;  it  can't  be 
he !  "  Mrs.  "Wyatt  rushes  to  the  gallery  that  over- 
looks the  road  to  verify  her  hope  or  fear,  and  then 
out  of  one  of  the  doors  into  the  corridor,  while 
Constance  springs  frantically  to  her  feet  and  runs 
toward  the  other  door. 

Constance :  "  Oh,  yes,  yes  !  It 's  papa !  It 's 
my  dear,  good,  kind  papa !  He  's  dead ;  he  's 
drowned ;  I  drove  him  away  ;  I  murdered  him  ! 
Ah-h-h-h!"  She  shrinks  back  with  a  shriek  at 
sight  of  Bartlett,  whose  excited  face  appears  at  the 
door :  "  Go !  It  was  you,  you  who  made  me  hate 
my  father!  You  made  me  kill  him  and  now  I 
abhor  you!  I"  — 

Bartlett:  "Wait!     Hold  on!     Wfcat  is  it  all?" 

Constance  :  "  Oh,  forgive  me  !  I  did  n't  mean  — 
I  didn't  know  it  was  you,  sir  !  But  where  is  he? 
Oh,  take  me  to  him!  Is  he  dead?"  She  seizes  his 
arm,  and  clings  to  it  trembling. 

Bartlett:  "Dead?  No,  he  is  n't  dead.  He  was 
knocked  over  by  a  team  coming  behind  him  down 
the  hill,  and  was  slightly  bi*uised.  There 's  no 


Distinctions  and  Differences.  101 

cause  for  alarm.  He  sent  me  to  tell  you ;  they  've 
carried  him  to  your  rooms." 

Constance:  "Oh,  thank  Heaven!"  She  bows 
her  head  with  a  sob,  upon  his  shoulder,  and  then 
lifts  her  tearful  eyes  to  his :  "  Help  me  to  get  to 
him !  I  am  weak."  She  totters  and  Bartlett  me- 
chanically passes  a  supporting  arm  about  her. 
"Help  me,  and  don't — don't  leave  me!"  She 
moves  with  him  a  few  paces  toward  the  door,  her 
head  drooping;  but  all  at  once  she  raises  her  face 
again,  stares  at  him,  stiffly  releases  .herself,  and  with 
a  long  look  of  reproach  walks  proudly  away  to 
the  other  door,  by  which  she  vanishes  without  a 
word. 

Bartlett)  remaining  planted,  with  a  bewildered 
glance  at  his  empty  arm :  "  Well,  I  wonder  who 
and  what  and  where  I  am  ! " 


III. 

NOT  AT  ALL  LIKE. 


BARTLETT  and  CUMMINGS. 

Bartlett :  "  Six  weeks  since  you  were  here  ?  I 
should  n't  have  thought  that."  Bartlett's  easel 
stands  before  the  window,  in  the  hotel  parlor ;  he 
has  laid  a  tint  upon  the  canvas,  and  has  retired  a 
few  paces  for  the  effect,  his  palette  and  mahl-stick 
in  hand,  and  his  head  carried  at  a  critical  angle. 
Cummings,  who  has  been  doing  the  duty  of  art- 
culture  by  the  picture,  regards  it  with  renewed  in- 
terest. Bartlett  resumes  his  work  :  "  Pretty  good, 
Cummings  ?  " 

Cummings :  "  Capital !  The  blue  of  that  dis- 
tance "  — 

Bartlett^  with  a  burlesque  sigh  :  "  Ah,  I  looked 
into  my  heart  and  painted  for  that!  Well,  you 
find  me  still  here,  Cummings,  and  apparently  more 
at  home  than  ever.  The  landlord  has  devoted  this 


106  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

parlor  to  the  cause  of  art,  —  makes  the  transients 
use  the  lower  parlor,  now,  —  and  we  have  this  all 
to  ourselves:  Miss  Wyatt  sketches,  you  know. 
Her  mother  brings  her  sewing,  and  the  General  his 
bruises ;  he  has  n't  quite  scrambled  up,  yet,  from 
that  little  knock-down  of  his ;  a  man  does  n't,  at 
his  time  of  life,  I  believe ;  and  we  make  this  our 
family-room ;  and  a  very  queer  family  we  are ! 
Fine  old  fellow,  the  General ;  he  's  behaved  himself 
since  his  accident  like  a  disabled  angel,  and  has  n't 
sworn,  —  well,  anything  worth  speaking  of.  Yes, 
here  I  am.  I  suppose  it 's  all  right,  but  for  all  I 
know  it  may  be  all  wrong."  Bartlett  sighs  in  un- 
guarded sincerity,  "/don't  know  what  I 'm  here 
for.  Nature  began  shutting  up  shop  a  fortnight 
ago  at  a  pretty  lively  rate,  and  edging  loafers  to 
the  door,  with  every  sign  of  impatience ;  and  yet, 
here  I  am,  hanging  round  still.  I  suppose  this 
glimpse  of  Indian  Summer  is  some  excuse  just 
now  ;  it 's  a  perfect  blessing  to  the  landlord,  and 
he 's  making  hay  —  rowen  crop  —  while  the  sun 
shines ;  I  've  been  with  him  so  long  now,  I  take 
quite  an  interest  in  his  prosperity,  if  eight  dollars 


Not  at  all  Like.  107 

a  week  of  it  do  come  out  of  me !  What  is  talked 
of  in  <  art-circles'  down  in  Boston,  brother  Cuin- 
mings  ?  " 

Cummings :  "  Your  picture." 

Bartlett,  inattentively,  while  he  comes  up  to  his 
canvas,  and  bestows  an  infinitesimal  portion  of  paint 
upon  a  destitute  spot  in  the  canvas  :  "  Don't  be 
sarcastic,  Cummings." 

Cummings :  "  I  'm  not,  I  assure  you." 

Bartlett,  turning  toward  him  incredulously :  "  Do 
you  mean  to  say  that  The  First  Gray  Hair  is 
liked?" 

Cummings:  "I  do.  There  hasn't  been  any  pic- 
ture so  much  talked  of  this  season." 

Bartlett:  uThen  it's  the  shameless  slop  of  the 
name.  I  should  think  you 'd  blush  for  your  part 
in  that  swindle.  But  clergymen  have  no  con- 
science, where  they  've  a  chance  to  do  a  fellow  a 
kindness,  I  've  observed."  He  goes  up  to  Cum- 
mings with  his  brush  in  his  mouth,  his  palette  on 
one  hand,  and  his  mahl-stick  in  the  other,  and  con- 
trives to  lay  hold  of  his  shoulders  with  a  few  dis- 
engaged fingers.  As  Cummings  shrinks  a  little 


108  A  Counterfeit  Presentment. 

from  his  embrace :  "  Oh,  don't  be  afraid ;  I  shan't 
get  any  paint  on  you.  You  need  a  whole  coat  of 
whitewash,  though,  you  unscrupulous  saint!"  He 
returns  to  his  easel.  "  So  The  Old  Girl  —  that 's 
what  I  shall  call  the  picture  —  is  a  success,  is  she  ? 
The  admiring  public  ought  to  see  the  original  elm- 
tree  now;  she  hasn't  got  a  hair,  gray  or  green, 
on  her  head ;  she 's  perfectly  bald.  I  say,  Cum- 
mings,  how  would  it  do  for  me  to  paint  a  pendant, 
The  Last  Gray  Hair  ?  I  might  look  up  a  leaf  or 
two  on  the  elm,  somewhere :  stick  it  on  to  the  point 
of  twig ;  they  would  n't  know  any  better." 

Gumming  s :  "The  leafless  elm  would  make  a 
good  picture,  whatever  you  called  it."  Bartlett 
throws  back  his  shaggy  head  and  laughs  up  at  the 
ceiling.  u  The  fact  is,  Bartlett,  I  Ve  got  a  little 
surprise  for  you." 

Barthtt,  looking  at  him  askance :  "  Somebody 
wanting  to  chromo  The  Old  Girl  ?  No,  no ;  it 
is  n't  quite  so  bad  as  that ! " 

Cummings,  in  a  burst :  "  They  did  want  to 
chromo  it.  But  it 's  sold.  They  Ve  got  you  two 
hundred  dollars  for  it."  Bartlett  lays  down  his 


Not  at  all  Like.  109 

brush,  palette,  and  mahl-stick,  dusts  his  fingers, 
puts  them  in  his  pockets,  and  comes  and  stands 
before  Cummings,  on  whom,  seated,  he  bends  a 
curious  look. 

Bartlett :  "  And  do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  you 
hardened  atheist,  that  you  don't  believe  in  the  doc- 
trine of  future  punishments  ?  What  are  they  going 
to  do  with  you  in  the  next  world  ?  And  that  pic- 
ture dealer  ?  And  me  ?  Two  hund —  It  's  an 
outrage !  It 's  —  The  picture  was  n't  worth  fifty, 
by  a  stretch  of  the  most  charitable  imagination  ! 
Two  hundred  d —  Why,  Cummings,  I  '11  paint  no 
end  of  Old  Girls,  First  and  Last  Gray  Hairs  — 
I  '11  flood  the  market  !  Two  —  Good  Lord  !  " 
Bartlett  goes  back  to  his  easel,  and  silently  re- 
sumes his  work.  After  a  while  :  "  Who  's  been 
offered  up  ?  " 

Cummings :  "  What  ?  " 

Bartlett :  "  Who  's  the  victim  ?  My  patron  ? 
The  noble  and  discriminating  and  munificent  pur- 
chaser of  The  Old  Girl?" 

Cummings  :  "  Oh  !  Mrs.  Bellingham.  She  's 
going  to  send  it  out  to  her  daughter  in  Omaha." 


110  A  Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Bartlett:  "  Ah  !  Mrs.  Blake  wishes  to  found  an 
art-museum  with  that  curiosity  out  there  ?  Sorry 
for  the  Omaha-has."  Cummings  makes  a  gesture 
of  impatience.  "  Well,  well ;  I  won't  then,  old 
fellow !  I  'm  truly  obliged  to  you.  I  accept  my 
good  fortune  with  compunction,  but  with  all  the 
gratitude  imaginable.  I  say,  Cummings  !  " 

Cummings:  "Well?" 

Bartlett :  "  What  do  you  think  of  my  taking  to 
high  art,  —  mountains  twelve  hundred  feet  above 
the  sea,  like  this  portrait  of  Porikwasset?" 

Cummings:  "I  've  always  told  you  that  you  had 
only  to  give  yourself  scope,  —  attempt  something 
worthy  of  your  powers"  — 

Bartlett:  "Ah,  I  thought  so.  Then  you  be- 
lieve that  a  good  big  canvas  and  a  good  big  sub- 
ject would  be  the  making  of  me?  Well,  I  've 
come  round  to  that  idea  myself.  I  used  to  think 
that  if  there  was  any  greatness  in  me,  I  could  get 
it  into  a  small  picture,  like  Meissonier  or  Corot. 
But  I  can't.  I  must  have  room,  like  the  Yellow- 
stone and  Yo-Semite  fellows.  Don't  you  think 
Miss  Wyatt  is  looking  wonderfully  improved?" 


Not  at  all  Like.  Ill 

Cummings  :  "  Wonderfully !  And  how  beautiful 
she  is !  She  looked  lovely  that  first  day,  in  spite 
of  her  ghostliness  ;  but  now"  — 

JBartlett:  "Yes;  &  phantom  of  delight  is"  good 
enough .  in  its  way,  but  a  well  woman  is  the  pret- 
tiest, after  all.  Miss  Wyatt  sketches,  I  think  I 
told  you." 

Cummings:    "  Yes,  you  mentioned  it." 

Bartlett:  "  Of  course.  Otherwise,  I  couldn't 
possibly  have  thought  of  her  while  I  was  at  work 
on  a  great  picture  like  this.  She  sketches "  • — 
Bartlett  puts  his  nose  almost  on  the  canvas  in  the 
process  of  bestowing  a  delicate  touch  —  "  she 
sketches  about  as  badly  as  any  woman  I  ever  saw, 
and  that 's  saying  a  good  deal.  But  she  looks  un- 
commonly well  while  she 's  at  it.  The  fact  is,  Cum- 
mings," —  Bartlett  retires  some  feet  from  the  can- 
vas and  squints  at  it,  —  "this  very  picture  which 
you  approve  of  so  highly  is  —  Miss  Wyatt's.  1 
couldn't  attempt  anything  of  the  size  of  Ponk- 
wasset !  But  she  allows  me  to  paint  at  it  a  little 
when  she  's  away."  Bartlett  steals  a  look  of  joy  at 
his  friend's  vexation,  and  then  continues  seri- 


112  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

ously  :  "  I  've  been  having  a  curious  time,  Cum- 
mings."  The  other  remains  silent.  "Don't  you 
want  to  ask  me  about  it  ?  " 

Cummings:   "I  don't  know  that  I  do/' 

Bartlett :  "  Why,  my  dear  old  fellow,  you'  re 
hurt !  It  was  a  silly  joke,  and  I  honestly  ask  your 
pardon."  He  lays  down  his  brush  and  palette,  and 
leaves  the  easel.  "  Cummings,  I  don't  know  what 
to  do.  I  'm  in  a  perfect  deuce  of  a  state.  I  'm  hit 
—  awfully  hard;  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do 
about  it.  I  wish  I  had  gone  at  once  —  the  first 
day.  But  I  had  to  stay,  —  I  had  to  stay."  He 
turns  and  walks  away  from  Cummings,  whose  eyes 
follow  him  in  pardon  and  sympathy. 

Cummings :  "  Do  you  really  mean  it,  Bartlett  ? 
I  did  n't  dream  of  such  a  thing.  I  thought  you 
were  still  brooding  over  that  affair  with  Miss  Har- 
lan." 

Bartlett:  "  Oh,  child's  play  !  A  prehistoric  illu- 
sion !  A  solar  myth  !  The  thing  never  was."  He 
rejects  the  obsolete  superstition  with  a  wave  of  his 
left  hand.  "  I  'm  in  love  with  this  girl,  and  I  feel 
like  a  sneak  and  a  brute  about  it.  At  the  very 


Not  at  all  Like.  113 

best  it  would  be  preposterous.  Who  am  I,  a  poor 
devil  of  a  painter,  the  particular  pet  of  Poverty,  to 
think  of  a  young  lady  whose  family  and  position 
could  command  her  the  best  ?  But  putting  that  aside, 
—  putting  that  insuperable  obstacle  lightly  aside,  as 
a  mere  trifle,  —  the  thing  remains  an  atrocity.  It 's 
enormously  indelicate  to  think  of  loving  a  woman 
who  would  never  have  looked  twice  at  me  if  I 
had  n't  resembled  an  infernal  scoundrel  who  tried 
to  break  her  heart ;  and  I  've  nothing  else  to  com- 
mend me.  I  Ve  the  perfect  certainty  that  she 
does  n't  and  can't  care  anything  for  me  in  myself; 
and  it  grinds  me  into  the  dust  to  realize  on  what 
terms  she  tolerates  me.  I  could  carry  it  off  as  a 
joke,  at  first ;  but  when  it  became  serious,  I  had  to 
look  it  in  the  face;  and  that's  what  it  amounts  to, 
and  if  you  know  of  any  more  hopeless  and  humili- 
ating tangle,  /  don't."  Bartlett,  who  has  ap- 
proached his  friend  during  this  speech,  walks  away 
again;  and  there  is  an  interval  of  silence. 

Oummings,  at  last,  musingly :  "  You  in  love  with 
Miss  Wyatt?    I  can't  imagine  it!" 

Bartlett, fiercely :  "You  can't  imagine  it?  What's 
8 


114  A    Counterfeit  Presentment. 

the  reason  you  can't  imagine  it?  Don't  be  offen- 
sive, Cummings ! "  He  stops  in  his  walk  and  lowers 
upon  his  friend.  "Why  should  n't  I  be  in  love 
with  Miss  Wyatt?" 

Cummings :  "  Oh,  nothing.  Only  you  were  say- 
ing"— 

Bartlett:  "I  was  saying!  Don't  tell  me  what  1 
was  saying.  Say  something  yourself." 

Cummings:  "Really,  Bartlett,  you  can't  expect 
me  to  stand  this  sort  of  thing.  You  're  preposter- 
ous." 

Bartlett:  "I  know  it!  But  don't  blame  me.  I 
beg  your  pardon.  Is  it  because  of  the  circumstan- 
ces that  you  can't  imagine  my  being  in  love  with 
her?" 

Cummings:  "Oh,  no;  I  was  n't  thinking  of  the 
circumstances;  but  it  seemed  so  out  of  character 
,  for  you"  — 

Bartlett,  impatiently :  "  Oh,  love  's  always  out 
of  character,  just  as  it  's  always  out  of  reason.  I 
admit  freely  that  I  'm  an  ass.  And  then?" 

Cummings :  "  Well,  then,  I  don't  believe  you 
have  any  more  reason  to  be  in  despair  than  you 


Not  at  all  Like.  115 

have  to  be  in  love.  If  she  tolerates  you,  as  you 
say,  it  can't  be  because  you  look  like  the  man  who 
jilted  her." 

Bartlett :  "Ah  !  But  if  she  still  loves  him?  " 
Gummings :  "  You  don't  know  that.  That  strikes 
me  as  a  craze  of  jealousy.  What  makes  you  think 
she  tolerates  you  for  that  reason  or  no-reason  ?  " 
Bartlett:  "What  makes  me  think  it?  From  the 
very  first  she  interpreted  me  by  what  she  knew  of 
him.  She  expected  me  to  be  this  and  not  to  be 
that;  to  have  one  habit  and  not  another;  and  I 
could  see  that  every  time  the  fact  was  different,  it 
was  a  miserable  disappointment  to  her,  a  sort  of 
shock.  Every  little  difference  between  me  and  that 
other  rascal  gave  her  a  start ;  and  whenever  I 
looked  up  I  found  her  wistful  eyes  on  me  as  if  they 
were  trying  to  puzzle  me  out ;  they  used  to  follow 
me  round  the  room  like  the  eyes  of  a  family  por- 
trait. You  would  n't  have  liked  it  yourself,  Cum- 
mings.  For  the  first  three  weeks  I  simply  existed 
on  false  pretenses,  —  involuntary  false  pretenses,  at 
that.  I  wanted  to  explode ;  I  wanted  to  roar  out, 
'If  you  think  I'm  at  all  like  that  abandoned  scoun- 


116  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

drel  of  yours  ID  anything  but  looks,  I'm  not!'  But 
I  was  bound  by  everything  that  was  decent,  to  hold 
my  tongue,  and  let  my  soul  be  rasped  out  of  me  in 
silence  and  apparent  unconsciousness.  That  was 
your  fault.  If  you  had  n't  told  me  all  about  the 
thing  I  could  have  done  something  outrageous  and 
stopped  it.  But  I  was  tied  hand  and  foot  by  what 
I  knew.  I  had  to  let  it  go  on." 

Oummings:  "I'm  very  sorry,  Bartlett,  but"  — 
Barllett:  "Oh,  I  dare  say  you  wouldn't  have 
done  it  if  you  had  n't  had  a  wild  ass  of  the  desert 
to  deal  with.  Well,  the  old  people  got  used  to 
some  little  individuality  in  me,  by  and  by,  and  be- 
yond a  suppressed  whoop  or  two  from  the  mother 
when  I  came  suddenly  into  the  room,  they  did  n't 
do  anything  to  annoy  me  directly.  But  they  were 
anxious  every  minute  for  the  effect  on  her  ;  and 
it  worried  me  as  much  to  have  them  watching  her 
as  to  have  her  watching  me.  Of  course  I  knew 
that  she  talked  this  confounded  resemblance  over 
with  her  mother  every  time  I  left  them,  and  avoided 
talking  it  over  with  the  father." 

Cummings :  "  But   you    say  the    trouble  's  over 
now." 


Not  at  all  Like.  Ill 

Bartlett:  "Oh —  over!  No,  it  is  n't  over.  When 
she's  with  me  a  while  she  comes  to  see  that  I  am 
not  a  mere  doppelganger.  She  respites  me  to  that 
extent.  But  I  have  still  some  small  rags  of  self- 
esteem  dangling  about  me;  and  now  suppose  I 
should  presume  to  set  up  for  somebody  on  my  own 
account;  the  first  hint  of  my  caring  for  her  as  I 
do,  if  she  could  conceive  of  anything  so  atrocious, 
would  tear  open  all  the  old  sorrows.  Ah!  I  can't 
think  of  it.  Besides,  I  tell  you,  it  is  n't  all  over. 
It 's  only  not  so  bad  as  it  was.  She 's  subject  to 
relapses,  when  it 's  much  worse  than  ever.  Why  " 
—  Bartlett  stands  facing  his  friend,  with  a  half- 
whimsical,  half-desperate  smile,  as  if  about  to  illus- 
trate his  point,  when  Constance  and  her  mother 
enter  the  parlor. 


II. 


CONSTANCE,  MRS.  WYATT,  BARTLETT,  and   CUM- 
MINGS. 

Constance,  with  a  quick,  violent  arrest,  "Ah! 
Oh!" 

Mrs.  Wyatt:  "Constance,  Constance,  darling! 
What  ?H  the  matter  ?  " 

Constance:  "  Oh,  nothing  —  nothing."  She 
laughs,  nervously.  "  I  thought  there  was  nobody 
—  here;  and  it — startled  me.  How  do  you  do, 
Mr.  Cummings?"  She  goes  quickly  up  to  that 
gentleman,  and  gives  him  her  hand.  "  Don't  you 
think  it  wonderful  to  find  such  a  day  as  this, 
up  here,  at  this  time  of  year?"  She  struggles 
to  control  the  panting  breath  in  which  she  speaks. 

Gumming s  :  "Yes,  I  supposed  I  had  come  quite 
too  late  for  anything  of  the  sort.  You  must  make 
haste  with  your  Ponkwasset,  Miss  Wyatt,  or  you'll 
have  to  paint  him  with  his  winter  cap  on." 


Not  at  all  Like.  119 

Constance :  "  Ah,  yes !  My  picture.  Mr.  Bart- 
lett  has  been  telling  you."  Her  eyes  have  already 
wandered  away  from  Cummings,  and  they  now 
dwell,  with  a  furtive  light  of  reparation  and  im- 
ploring upon  Bartlett's  disheartened  patience : 
"  Good  morning.'9  It  is  a  delicately  tentative  salu- 
tation, in  a  low  voice,  still  fluttered  by  her  nervous 
agitation. 

Bartlett,  in  dull  despair :  "  Good  morning." 

Constance :  "  How  is  the  light  on  the  mountain 
this  morning  ?  "  She  drifts  deprecatingly  up  to  the 
picture,  near  which  Bartlett  has  stolidly  kept  his 
place. 

1  Bartlett,  in  apathetic    inattention :     "  Oh,  very 
well,  very  well,  indeed,  thank  you." 

Constance,  after  a  hesitating  glance  at  him : 
"  Did  you  like  what  I  had  done  on  it  yesterday  ?  " 

Bartlett,  very  much  as  before :  "  Oh,  yes ;  why 
not  ?  " 

Constance,  with  meek  subtlety :  "  I  was  afraid  I 
had  vexed  you  —  by  it."  She  bends  an  appealing 
glance  upon  him,  to  which  Bartlett  remains  im- 
pervious, and  she  drops  her  eyes  with  a  faint  sigh. 


120  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Then  she  lifts  them  again :  "  I  was  afraid  I  had  — 
made  the  distance  too  blue." 

Bartlett :  "  Oh,  no ;  not  at  all." 

Constance :  "  Do  you  think  I  had  better  try  to 
finish  it?" 

Bartlett:  "Oh,  certainly.  Why  not?  If  it 
amuses  you! " 

Constance,  perplexedly :  "  Of  course."  Then 
with  a  sad  significance :  "  But  I  know  I  am  trying 
your  patience  too  far.  You  have  been  so  kind,  so 
good,  I  can't  forgive  myself  for  annoying  you." 

Bartlett :  "  It  does  n't  annoy  me.  I  'm  very  glad 
to  be  useful  to  you." 

Constance,  demurely  :  "  I  did  n't  mean  painting ; 
I  meant  —  screaming."  She  lifts  her  eyes  to  Bart- 
lett's  face,  with  a  pathetic,  inquiring  attempt  at 
lightness,  the  slightest  imaginable  experimental 
archness  in  her  self-reproach,  which  dies  out  as 
Bartlett  frowns  and  bites  the  corner  of  his  mus- 
tache in  unresponsive  silence.  "  I  ought  to  be  well 
enough  now  to  stop  it ;  I  'm  quite  well  enough  to 
be  ashamed  of  it."  She  breaks  off  a  miserable 
little  laugh. 


Ndt  at  all  Like.  121 

Bartlett,  with  cold  indifference :  "  There 's  no 
reason  why  you  should  stop  it  —  if  it  amuses  you." 
She  looks  at  him  in  surprise  at  this  rudeness.  "  Do 
you  wish  to  try  your  hand  at  Ponkwasset  this 
morning  ?  " 

Constance,  with  a  flash  of  resentment :  "  No ; 
thanks."  Then  with  a  lapse  into  her  morbid  self- 
abasement  :  "  I  shall  not  touch  it  again.  Mam- 
ma!" 

Mrs.  Wyatt:  "Yes,  Constance."  Mrs.  Wyatt 
and  Cummings,  both  intent  on  Bartlett  and  Con- 
stance, have  been  heroically  feigning  a  polite  in- 
terest in  each  other,  from  which  pretense  they 
now  eagerly  release  themselves. 

Constance :  "  Oh  —  nothing.  I  can  get  it  of 
Mary.  I  won't  trouble  you."  She  goes  toward 
the  door. 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  Mary  is  n't  up  from  her  breakfast, 
yet.  If  you  want  anything,  let  me  go  with  you, 
dear."  She  turns  to  follow  Constance.  u  Good 
morning,  Mr.  Cummings ;  we  shall  see  you  at  din- 
ner. Good  morning,"  —  with  an  inquiring  glance 
at  Bartlett.  Constance  slightly  inclines  towards 


122  A  Counterfeit  Presentment. 

the  two  gentlemen  without  looking  at  them,  in 
going  out  with  her  mother ;  and  Cummings  moves 
away  to  the  piano,  and  affects  to  examine  the 
sheet-music  scattered  over  it.  Bartlett  remains  in 
his  place  near  the  easel. 


III. 

BARTLETT  and  CUMMINGS. 

Bartlett,  harshly,  after  a  certain  silence  which 
his  friend  is  apparently  resolved  not  to  break : 
"  Sail  in,  Cummings ! " 

Gummings  :  "  Oh,  I  Ve  got  nothing  to  say." 

Bartlett:  "Yes,  you  have.  You  think  I'm  a 
greater  fool  and  a  greater  brute  than  you  ever 
supposed  in  your  most  sanguine  moments.  Well, 
I  am !  What  then  ?  " 

Gummings,  turning  about  from  the  music  at 
which  he  has  been  pretending  to  look,  and  facing 
Bartlett,  with  a  slight  shrug :  "  If  you  choose  to 
characterize  your  own  behavior  in  that  way,  I  shall 
not  dispute  you  at  any  rate." 

Bartlett :  "  Go  on  !  " 

Gummings:  "Go  on?  You  saw  yourself,  I 
suppose,  how  she  hung  upon  every  syllable  you 
spoke,  every  look,  every  gesture  ? " 


124  A  Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Bartlctt:  "Yes,  I  saw  it." 

Cummings :  "  You  saw  how  completely  crushed 
she  was  by  your  tone  and  manner.  You  're  not 
blind.  Upon  my  word,  Bartlett,  if  I  did  n't  know 
what  a  good,  kind-hearted  fellow  you  are,  I  should 
say  you  were  the  greatest  ruffian  alive." 

Bartlett)  with  a  groan  :  "  Go  on !  That 's  some- 
thing like." 

Cummings :  "  I  could  n't  hear  what  was  going 
on  —  I  '11  own  I  tried  —  but  I  could  see  ;  and  to 
see  the  delicate  amende  she  was  trying  to  offer 
you,  in  such  a  way  that  it  should  not  seem  an 
amende,  —  a  perfect  study  of  a  woman's  gra- 
cious, unconscious  art,  —  and  then  to  see  your  sour 
refusal  of  it  all,  it  made  me  sick." 

Bartlett  with  a  desperate  clutch  at  his  face,  like 
a  man  oppressed  with  some  stifling  vapor :  "  Yes, 
yes !  I  saw  it  all,  too !  And  if  it  had  been  for  me, 
I  would  have  given  anything  for  such  happiness. 
Oh,  gracious  powers !  How  dear  she  is  !  I  would 
rather  have  suffered  any  anguish  than  give  her 
pain,  and  yet  I  gave  her  pain !  I  knew  how  it 
entered  her  heart :  I  felt  it  in  my  own.  But 


Not 'at  all  Like.  125 

what  could  I  do  ?  If  I  am  to  be  myself,  if  I  am 
not  to  steal  the  tenderness  meant  for  another 
man,  the  love  she  shows  to  me  because  I  'in  like 
somebody  else,  I  must  play  the  brute.  But  have  a 
little  mercy  on  me.  At  least,  I  'm  a  baited  brute. 
I  don't  know  which  way  to  turn,  I  don't  know 
what  to  do.  She 's  so  dear  to  me,  —  so  dear  in 
every  tone  of  her  voice,  every  look  of  her  eyes, 
every  aspiration  or  desire  of  her  transparent  soul, 
that  it  seems  to  me  my  whole  being  is  nothing  but 
a  thought  of  her.  I  loved  her  helplessness,  her 
pallor,  her  sorrow ;  judge  how  I  adore  her  return 
to  something  like  life  !  Oh,  you  blame  me !  You 
simplify  this  infernal  perplexity  of  mine  and  label 
it  brutality,  and  scold  me  for  it.  Great  heaven ! 
And  yet  you  saw,  you  heard  how  she  entered  this 
room.  In  that  instant  the  old  illusion  was  back 
on  her,  and  /  was  nothing.  All  that  I  had  been 
striving  and  longing  to  be  to  her,  and  hoping  and 
despairing  to  seem,  was  swept  out  of  existence ;  I 
was  reduced  to  a  body  without  a  soul,  to  a  shadow, 
a  counterfeit!  You  think  I  resented  it?  Poor 
girl,  I  pitied  her  so ;  and  my  own  heart  all  the 


126  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

time  like  lead  in  my  breast,  —  a  dull  lump  of  ache! 
I  swear,  I  wonder  I  don't  go  mad.  I  suppose  — 
why,  I  suppose  I  am  insane.  No  man  in  his  senses 
was  ever  bedeviled  by  such  a  maniacal  hallucina- 
tion. Look  here,  Cummings:  tell  me  that  this 
damnable  coil  is  n't  simply  a  matter  of  my  own 
fancy.  It'll  be  some  little  relief  to  know  that  it's 
real. 

Cummings:  "It's  real  enough,  my  dear  fellow. 
And  it  is  a  trial,  —  more  than  I  could  have  be- 
lieved such  a  fantastic  thing  could  be." 

Bartlett:  " Trial?  Ordeal  by  fire!  Torment!  I 
can't  stand  it  any  longer." 

Cumminys,  musingly :  "  She  is  beautiful,  is  n't 
she,  with  that  faint  dawn  of  red  in  her  cheeks,  — 
not  a  color,  but  a  colored  light  like  the  light  that 
hangs  round  a  rose-tree's  boughs  in  the  early 
spring!  And  what  a  magnificent  movement,  what 
a  stately  grace !  The  girl  must  have  been  a  god- 
dess!" 

Bartlett:  "And  now  she's  a  saint  —  for  sweet- 
ness and  patience!  You  think  she 's  had  nothing 
to  suffer  before  from  me  ?  You  know  me  better  ! 
Well,  I  'm  going  away." 


Not  at  all  Like.  127 

Cummings:  Perhaps  it  will  be  the  best.  You 
can  go  back  with  me  to-morrow." 

Bartlett:  "To  morrow?  Go  back  with  you  to- 
morrow? What  are  you  talking  about,  man?" 
Cummings  smiles.  "I  can't  go  to-morrow.  I 
can't  leave  her  hating  me."  --.0 

Cummin gs:  "  I  knew  you  never  meant  to  go. 
Well,  what  will  you  do  ?  " 

Bartlett:  "Don't  be  so  cold-blooded!  What 
would  you  do  ?  " 

Cummings:   "I  would  have  it  out,  somehow." 

Bartlett :   "  Oh,  you  talk !     How  ?  " 

Cummings:  "I  am  not  in  love  with  Miss 
Wyatt." 

Bartlett :  "  Oh,  don't  try  to  play  the  cynic  with 
me !  It  does  n't  become  you.  I  know  I  Ve  used 
you  badly  at  times,  Cummings.  I  behaved  abomi- 
nably in  leaving  you  to  take  the  brunt  of  meeting 
General  Wyatt  that  first  day ;  I  said  so  then,  and 
f  shall  always  say  it.  But  I  thought  you  had  for- 
given that." 

Cummings,  with  a  laugh :  "  You  make  it  hard  to 
treat  you  seriously,  Bartlett.  What  do  you  want 


128  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

me  to  do  ?  Do  you  want  me  to  go  to  Miss  Wyatt, 
and  explain  your  case  to  her?" 

Bartlett,  angrily:  "No!" 

Gumming s :   "Perhaps  to  Mrs.  Wyatt?" 

Bartlett,  infuriate :  "  No ! " 
,  Cummings :   "  To  the  General  ?  " 

Bartlett,  with  sudden  quiet:  "You  had  better 
go  away  from  here,  Cummings  —  while  you  can." 

Cummings :  "  I  see  you  don't  wish  me  to  do 
anything,  and  you  're  quite  right.  Nobody  can  do 
anything  but  yourself." 

Bartlett :  "  And  what  would  you  advise  me  to 
do?" 

Cummings:  "I've  told  you  that  I  would  have 
it  out.  You  can't  make  matters  worse.  You  can't 
go  on  in  this  way  indefinitely.  It's  just  possible 
that  you  might  find  yourself  mistaken,  —  that  Miss 
Wyatt  cares  for  you  in  your  own  proper  identity." 

Bartlett:   "For  shame!" 

Cummings:   "Oh,  if  you  like!" 

Bartlett,  after  a  pause:  "Would  you  —  would 
you  see  the  General?" 

Cummings:  "If  I  wanted  to  marry  the  General. 


Not  at  all  Like.  129 

Come,  Bartlett;  don't  be  ridiculous.  You  know 
you  don't  want  my  advice,  and  I  have  n't  any  to 
give.  I  must  go  to  my  room  a  moment." 

Bartlett:  "Well,  go!  You're  of  no  advantage 
here.  You  'd  have  it  out,  would  you  ?  Well,  then, 
I  would  n't.  I  'm  a  brute,  I  know,  and  a  fool,  but 
I  'm  not  such  a  brute  and  fool  as  that ! "  Cum- 
mings  listens  with  smiling  patience,  and  then  goes 
without  reply,  while  Bartlett  drops  into  the  chair 
near  the  easel,  and  sulkily  glares  at  the  picture. 
Through  the  window  at  his  back  shows  the  mel- 
low Indian  summer  landscape.  The  trees  have  all 
dropped  their  leaves,  save  the  oaks  which  show 
their  dark  crimson  banners  among  the  deep  green 
of  the  pines  and  hemlocks  on  the  hills;  the  mead- 
ows, verdant  as  in  June,  slope  away  toward  the 
fringe  of  birches  and  young  maples  along  the 
borders  of  the  pond ;  the  low-blackberry  trails  like 
a  running  fire  over  the  long  grass  limp  from  the 
first  frosts,  which  have  silenced  all  the  insect  voices. 
No  sound  of  sylvan  life  is  heard  but  the  harsh 
challenge  of  a  jay,  answered  from  many  trees  of  the 
nearest  wood-lot.  The  far-off  hill-tops  are  molten 
9 


130  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

in  the  soft  azure  haze  of  the  season ;  the  nearer 
slopes  and  crests  sleep  under  a  grayer  and  thinner 
veil.  It  is  to  this  scene  that  the  painter  turns 
from  the  easel,  with  the  sullen  unconsciousness  in 
which  he  has  dwelt  upon  the  picture.  Its  beauty 
seems  at  last  to  penetrate  his  mood ;  he  rises  and 
looks  upon  it ;  then  he  goes  out  on  the  gallery,  and, 
hidden  by  the  fall  of  one  of  the  curtains,  stands 
leaning  upon  the  rail  and  rapt  in  the  common 
revery  of  the  dreaming  world.  While  he  lingers 
there,  Cummings  appears  at  the  door,  and  looks 
in ;  then  with  an  air  of  some  surprise,  as  if  wonder- 
ing not  to  see  Bartlett,  vanishes  again,  to  give 
place  to  General  Wyatt,  who  after  a  like  research 
retires  silently  and  apparently  disconcerted.  A 
few  moments  later  Mrs.  Wyatt  comes  to  the  thresh- 
old, and  calling  gently  into  the  room,  "Con- 
stance!" waits  briefly  and  goes  away.  At  last, 
the  young  girl  herself  appears,  and  falters  in  the 
doorway  an  instant,  but  finally  comes  forward  and 
drifts  softly  and  indirectly  up  to  the  picture,  at 
which  she  glances  with  a  little  sigh.  At  the  same 
moment  Bartlett's  voice,  trolling  a  snatch  of  song, 
comes  from  the  gallery  without:  — 


Not  at  all  Like.  131 


ROMANCE. 


Here  apart  our  paths,  then,  lie  : 
This  way  you  wend,  that  way  I  ; 
Speak  one  word  before  you  go  :  ' 
Do  not,  do  not  leave  me  so ! 

n. 

What  is  it  that  I  should  say  ? 
Tell  me  quick  ;  I  cannot  stay  ; 
Quick  !    I  am  not  good  at  guessing  : 
Night  is  near,  and  time  is  pressing. 


Nay,  then,  go  !    But  were  I  you, 

I  will  tell  you  what  I  'd  do  : 

Rather  than  be  baffled  so,  • 

I  would  never,  never  go  !  " 

As  the  song  ends,  Bartlett  reappears  at  the  gallery 
door  giving  into  the  parlor,  and  encounters  Con- 
stance turning  at  his  tread  from  the  picture  on 
which  she  has  been  pensively  gazing  while  he 
sang.  He  puts  up  a  hand  on  either  side  of  the 
door. 


IV. 
BARTLETT  and  CONSTANCE. 

Bartlett:    "I  did  n't  know  you  were  here." 
Constance:    "Neither  did  I  —  know  you  were, 
till  I  heard  you  singing." 

Bartlett,   smiling   ironically:    "Oh,   you   didn't 
suppose  I  sang ! " 

Constance,  confusedly:  "I  —  I  don't  know"  — 
Bartlett:  " Ah,  you  thought  I  did!  I  don't.  I 
was  indulging  in  a  sort  of  modulated  howling 
which  I  flatter  myself  is  at  least  one  peculiarity 
that 's  entirely  my  own.  I  was  baying  the  land- 
scape merely  for  my  private  amusement,  and  I  'd 
not  have  done  it,  if  I  'd  known  you  were  in  hear- 
ing. However,  if  it's  helped  to  settle  the  fact 
one  way  or  other,  concerning  any  little  idiosyncrasy 
of  mine,  I  shan't  regret  it.  I  hope  not  to  disappoint 
you  in  anything,  by  and  by."  He  drops  his  hands 


Not  at  all  Like.  133 

from  the  doorposts  and  steps  into  the  room,  while 
Constance,  in  shrinking  abeyance,  stands  trembling 
at  his  harshness. 

Constance,  in  faltering  reproach:  "Mr.  Bart- 
lett!" 

Bartlett:    "  Constance ! " 

Constance,  struggling  to  assert  herself,  but  break- 
ing feebly  in  her  attempt  at  hauteur:  "Constance? 
What  does  this  mean,  Mr.  Bartlett?" 

Bartlett,  with  a  sudden  burst:  "What  does  it 
mean  ?  It  means  that  I  'm  sick  of  this  nightmare 
masquerade.  It  means  that  I  want  to  be  some- 
thing to  you  —  all  the  world  to  you  —  in  and  for 
myself.  It  means  that  I  can't  play  another  man's 
part  any  longer  and  live.  It  means  that  I  love 
you,  love  you,  love  you,  Constance!"  He  starts 
involuntarily  toward  her  with  outstretched  arms, 
from  which  she  recoils  with  a  convulsive  cry. 

Constance:  "You  love  me?  Me?  Oh,  no,  no! 
How  can  you  be  so  merciless  as  to  talk  to  me  of 
love?"  She  drops  her  glowing  face  into  her  hands. 

Bartlett:  "Because  I 'm  a  man.  Because  love 
is  more  than  mercy  —  better,  higher,  wiser.  Listen 


134  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

to  me,  Constance!  —  yes,  I  will  call  you  so  now, 
if  never  again :  you  are  so  dear  to  me  that  I  must 
say  it  at  last  if  it  killed  you.  If  loving  you  is 
cruel,  I  'm  pitiless !  Give  me  some  hope,  tell  me 
to  breathe,  my  girl ! " 

Constance:  "Oh  go,  while  I  can  still  forgive 
you." 

Bartlett :  "  I  won't  go ;  I  won't  have  your  for- 
giveness ;  I  will  have  all  or  nothing ;  I  want  your 
love !  " 

Constance,  uncovering  her  face  and  turning  its 
desolation  upon  him  ;  "  My  love  ?  I  have  no  love 
to  give.  My  heart  is  dead." 

Bartlett:  "No,  no!  That's  part  of  the  ugly 
trance  that  we  've  both  been  living  in  so  long. 
Look  !  You  're  better  now  than  when  you  came 
here ;  you  're  stronger,  braver,  more  beautiful. 
My  angel,  you  're  turned  a  woman  again !  Oh 
you  can  love  me  if  you  will ;  and  you  will !  Look 
at  me,  darling  !  "  He  takes  her  listless  right  hand 
in  his  left,  and  gently  draws  her  toward  him. 

Constance,  starting  away  :  "  You  're  wrong ; 
you're  all  wrong!  You  don't  understand;  you 
don't  know —  Oh,  listen  to  me  ! " 


Not  at  all  Like.  135 

Bartlett,  still  holding  her  cold  hand  fast :  "  Yes, 
a  thousand  years.  But  you  must  tell  me  first  that 
I  may  love  you.  That  first !  " 

Constance :  "  No  !  That  never  !  And  since  you 
speak  to  me  of  love,  listen  to  what  it 's  my  right 
you  should  hear/' 

Bartlett,  releasing  her :  "  I  don't  care  to  hear. 
Nothing  can  ever  change  me.  But  if  you  bid  me, 
I  will  go  !  " 

Constance :  "  You  shall  not  go  now  till  you 
know  what  despised  and  hated  and  forsaken  thing 
you  Ve  offered  your  love  to." 

Bartlett,  beseechingly  :  "  Constance,  let  me  go 
while  I  can  forgive  myself.  Nothing  you  can  say 
will  make  me  love  you  less ;  remember  that ;  but 
I  implore  you  to  spare  yourself.  Don't  speak,  my 
love." 

Constance:  "Spare  myself?  Not  speak?  Not 
speak  what  has  been  on  my  tongue  and  heart  and 
brain,  a  burning  fire,  so  long  ?  —  Oh,  I  was  a  happy 
girl  once !  The  days  were  not  long  enough  for 
my  happiness ;  I  woke  at  night  to  think  of  it.  I 
was  proud  in  my  happiness  and  believed  myself, 


136  A   Counterfeit.  Presentment. 

poor  fool,  one  to  favor  those  I  smiled  on ;  and  I 
had  my  vain  and  crazy  dreams  of  being  the  hap- 
piness of  some  one  who  should  come  to  ask  for 
—  what  you  ask  now.  Some  one  came.  At  first 
I  did  n't  care  for  him,  but  he  knew  how  to  make 
me.  He  knew  how  to  make  my  thoughts  of  him 
part  of  my  happiness  and  pride  and  vanity  till  he 
was  all  in  all,  and  I  had  no  wish,  no  hope,  no  life 
but  him  ;  and  then  he  —  left  me  !  "  She  buries 
her  face  in  her  hands  again,  and  breaks  into  a  low, 
piteous  sobbing. 

Bartlett,  with  a  groan  of  helpless  fury  and  com- 
passion :  "  The  fool,  the  sot,  the  slave  !  Constance, 
I  knew  all  this,  —  I  knew  it  from  the  first." 

Constance,  recoiling  in  wild  reproach :  "  You 
knew  it?  " 

Bartlett,  desperately  :  "  Yes,  I  knew  it  —  in 
spite  of  myself,  through  my  own  stubborn  fury  I 
knew  it,  that  first  day,  when  I  had  obliged  my 
friend  to  tell  me  what  your  father  had  told  him, 
before  I  would  hear  reason.  I  would  have  given 
anything  not  to  have  known  it  then,  when  it  was 
too  late,  for  I  had  at  least  the  grace  to  feel  the 


•Not  at  all  Like.  137 

wrong,  the  outrage  of  my  knowing  it.  You  can 
never  pardon  it,  I  see ;  but  you  must  feel  what  a 
hateful  burden  I  had  to  bear,  when  I  found  that  I 
had  somehow  purloined  the  presence,  the  looks, 
the  voice  of  another  man- — a  man  whom  I  would 
have  joyfully  changed  myself  to  any  monstrous 
shape  not  to  resemble,  though  I  knew  that  my 
likeness  to  him,  bewildering  you  in  a  continual 
dream  of  him,  was  all  that  ever  made  you  look  at 
me  or  think  of  me.  I  lived  in  the  hope  —  Heaven 
only  knows  why  I  should  have  had  the  hope !  — 
that  I  might  yet  be  myself  to  you;  that  you  might 
wake  from  your  dream  of  him  and  look  on  me  in 
the  daylight,  and  see  that  I  was  at  least  an  honest 
man,  and  pity  me  and  may  be  love  me  at  last,  as  I 
loved  you  at  first,  from  the  moment  I  saw  your 
dear,  pale  face,  and  heard  your  dear,  sad  voice." 
He  follows  up  her  slow  retreat  and  again  pos- 
sesses himself  of  her  hand  :  "  Don't  cast  me  off !  It 
was  monstrous,  out  of  all  decency,  to  know  your 
sorrow ;  but  I  never  tried  to  know  it ;  I  tried  not 
to  know  it."  He  keeps  fast  hold  of  her  hand, 
while  she  remains  with  averted  head.  "  I  love  you, 


138  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Constance  ;  I  loved  you  ;  and  when  once  you  had 
bidden  me  stay,  I  was  helpless  to  go  away,  or  I 
would  never  be  here  now  to  offend  you  with  the 
confession  of  that  shameful  knowledge.  Do  you 
think  it  was  no  trial  to  me  ?  It  gave  me  the  con- 
science of  an  eavesdropper  and  a  spy  ;  yet  all  I 
knew  was  sacred  to  me." 

Constance,  turning  and  looking  steadfastly  into 
his  face :  "  And  you  could  care  for  so  poor  a  crea- 
ture as  I  —  so  abject,  so  obtuse  as  never  to  know 
what  had  made  her  intolerable  to  the  man  that 
cast  her  off?" 

Bartlett :  "  Man  ?     He  was  no  man  !     He  "  — 
Constance,   suddenly:    "Oh,    wait!     I — I    love 
him  yet." 

Bartlett,  dropping  her  hand :  "  You  "  — 
Constance :  "  Yes,  yes !  As  much  as  I  live,  I 
love  him !  But  when  he  left  me,  I  seemed  to  die  ; 
and  now  it's  as  if  I  were  some  wretched  ghost 
clinging  for  all  existence  to  the  thought  of  my  lost 
happiness.  If  that  slips  from  me,  then  I  cease  to 
be." 

Bartlett :  "  Why,  this  is  still  your  dream.     But 


Not  at  all  Like.  139 

I  won't  despair.  You'll  wake  yet,  and  care  for 
me  :  I  know  you  will." 

Constance,  tenderly:  "Oh,  I'm  not  dreaming 
now.  I  know  that  you  are  not  he.  You  are 
everything  that  is  kind  and  good ;  and  some 
day  you  will  be  very  happy." 

Bartlett,  desolately :  "  I  shall  never  be  happy 
without  your  love."  After  a  pause  ;  "  It  will  be  a 
barren,  bitter  comfort,  but  let  me  have  it  if  you 
can :  if  /  had  met  you  first,  could  you  have  loved 
u*f 

Constance:  "  I  might  have  loved  you  if —  I  had 
—  lived."  She  turns  from  him  again,  and  moves 
softly  toward  the  door;  his  hollow  voice  arrests 
her. 

Bartlett :  "  If  you  are  dead,  then  I  have  lived 
too  long.  Your  loss  takes  the  smile  out  of  life 
for  me."  A  moment  later  :  "  You  are  cruel,  Con- 
stance." 

Constance,  abruptly  facing  him :  "  I  cruel  ?  To 
you  f  " 

Bartlett :  "  Yes,  you  have  put  me  to  shame 
before  myself.  You  might  have  spared  me!  A 


140  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

treacherous  villain  is  false  in  time  to  save  you 
from  a  life  of  betrayal,  and  you  say  your  heart 
is  dead.  But  that  is  n't  enough.  You  tell  me 
that  you  cannot  care  for  me  because  you  love 
that  treacherous  villain  still.  That 's  my  disgrace, 
that's  my  humiliation,  that's  my  killing  shame. 
I  could  have  borne  all  else.  You  might  have  cast 
me  off  however  you  would,  driven  me  away 
with  any  scorn,  whipped  me  from  you  with  the 
sharpest  rebuke  that  such  presumption  as  mine 
could  merit ;  but  to  drag  a  decent  man's  self- 
respect  through  such  mire  as  that  poor  rascal's 
memory  for  six  long  weeks,  and  then  tell  him 
.that  you  prefer  the  mire  "  — ~ 

Constance :  u  Oh,  hush !  I  can't  let  you  re- 
proach him !  He  was  pitilessly  false  to  me,  but 
I  will  be  true  to  him  forever.  How  do  I  know 
—  I  must  find  some  reason  for  that,  or  there  is  no 
reason  in  anything  !  —  how  do  I  know  that  he  did 
not  break  his  word  to  me  at  my  father's  bidding? 
My  father  never  liked  him." 

Bartlett,  shaking  his  head  with  a  melancholy 
smile :  "  Ah,  Constance,  do  you  think  /  would 
break  my  word  to  you  at  your  father's  bidding  ?  " 


Not  at  all  Like.  141 

Constance,  in  abject  despair:  "Well,  then  I 
go  back  to  what  I  always  knew;  I  was  too 
slight,  too  foolish,  too  tiresome  for  his  life-long 
love.  He  saw  it  in  time,  I  don't  blame  him. 
You  would  see  it,  too." 

Bartlett :  "  What  devil's  vantage  enabled  that 
infernal  scoundrel  to  blight  your  spirit  with  his 
treason  ?  Constance,  is  this  my  last  answer  ?  " 

Constance :  "  Yes,  go  !     I  am  so    sorry  for  you, 

—  sorrier   than    I   ever    thought   I   could   be   for 
anything  again." 

Bartlett:  "Then  if  you  pity  me,  give  me  a 
little  hope  that  sometime,  somehow  "  • — 

Constance:  "  Oh,  I  have  no  hope,  for  you,  for  me. 
for  any  one.  Good-by,  good,  kind  friend !  Try, 

—  you   won't   have    to    try  hard — to    forget    me. 
Unless  some  miracle   should  happen  to    show  me 
that  it  was  all  his  fault  and  none  of  mine,  we  are 
parting    now    forever.     It    has    been    a    strange 
dream,  and  nothing  is  so  strange  as  that  it  should 
be  ending  so.     Are  you  the  ghost  or  I,  I  wonder ! 
It  confuses  me  as  it  did  at  first;  but   if  you  are 
he,  or   only  you  —    Ah,  don't  look  at  me  so,  or 


142  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

I  must  believe  he  has  never  left  me,  and  implore 
you  to  stay ! " 

Bartlettj  quietly :  "  Thanks.  I  would  not  stay 
a  moment  longer  in  his  disguise,  if  you  begged 
me  on  your  knees.  I  shall  always  love  you, 
Constance,  but  if  the  world  is  wide  enough,  please 
Heaven,  I  will  never  see  you  again.  There  are 
some  things  dearer  to  me  than  your,  presence. 
No,  I  won't  take  your  hand ;  it  can't  heal  the 
hurt  your  words  have  made,  and  nothing  can 
help  me,  now  I  know  from  your  own  lips  that 
but  for  my  likeness  to  him  I  should  never  have 
been  anything  to  you.  Good-by  !  " 

Constance :  "  Oh ! "  She  sinks  with  a  long 
cry  into  the  arm-chair  beside  the  table,  and  drops 
her  head  into  her  arms  upon  it.  At  the  door 
toward  which  he  turns  Bartlett  meets  General 
Wyatt,  and  a  moment  later  Mrs.  Wyatt  enters  by 
the  other.  Bartlett  recoils  under  the  concen- 
trated reproach  and  inquiry  of  their  gaze. 


V. 


GENERAL    WYATT,   MRS.   WYATT,    CONSTANCE, 
and  BARTLETT. 

Mrs.  Wyatt,  hastening  to  bow  herself  over 
Constance's  fallen  head :  "  Oh,  what  is  it,  Con- 
stance ?  "  As  Constance  makes  no  reply,  she  lifts 
her  eyes  again  to  Bartlett's  face. 

General  Wyatt)  peremptorily :  "  Well,  sir ! " 

Bartlett,  with  bitter  desperation :  "  Oh,  you 
shall  know ! " 

Constance,  interposing :  "  I  will  tell !  You 
shall  be  spared  that,  at  least."  She  has  risen, 
and  with  her  face  still  hidden  in  her  handkerchief, 
seeks  her  father  with  an  outstretched  hand.  He 
tenderly  gathers  her  to  his  arms,  and  she  droops 
a  moment  upon  his  shoulder  ;  then,  with  an  elec- 
trical revolt  against  her  own  weakness,  she  lifts 
her  head  and  dries  her  tears  with  a  passion- 


144  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

ate  energy.  "He — Oh,  speak  for  me!"  Her 
head  falls  again  on  her  father's  shoulder. 

Bartlett,  with  grave  irony  and  self-scorn  :  "  It 's 
a  simple  matter,  sir;  I  have  been  telling  Miss 
Wyatt  that  I  love  her,  and  offering  to  share  with 
her  my  obscurity  and  poverty.  I "  — 

General  Wyatt,  impatiently :  "  Curse  your 
poverty,  sir  !  I  'm  poor  myself.  Well ! " 

Bartlett:  "Oh,  that's  merely  the  beginning;  I 
have  had  the  indecency  to  do  this,  knowing  that 
what  alone  rendered  me  sufferable  to  her  it  was 
a  cruel  shame  for  me  to  know,  and  an  atrocity 
for  me  to  presume  upon.  I " — 

General  Wyatt:  "I  authorized  this  knowledge 
on  your  part  when  I  spoke  to  your  friend,  and 
before  he  went  away  he  told  me  all  he  had  said 
to  you." 

Bartlett,  in  the  first  stages  of  petrifaction : 
"  Cummings  ?  " 

General  Wyatt:  "Yes." 

Bartlett :  "  Told  you  that  I  knew  whom  I  was 
like  ?  " 

General  Wyatt:  "Yes." 


Not  at  all  Like.  145 

Bartlett,  very  gently :  "  Then  I  think  that  man 
will  be  lost  for  keeping  his  conscience  too  clean. 
Cummings  has  invented  a  new  sin." 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  James,  James !  You  told  me 
that  Mr.  Bartlett  did  n't  know." 

General  Wyatt,  contritely  :  "  I  let  you  think  so, 
Margaret ;  I  did  n't  know  what  else  to  do." 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  Oh,  James  !  " 

Constance :  "  Oh,  papa ! "  She  turns  with 
bowed  head  from  her  father's  arms,  and  takes 
refuge  in  her  mother's  embrace.  General  Wyatt, 
released,  fetches  a  compass  round  about  the  par- 
lor, with  a  face  of  intense  dismay.  He  pauses  in 
front  of  his  wife. 

General  Wyatt :  "  Margaret,  you  must  know  the 
worst,  now." 

Mrs.  Wyatt,  in  gentle  reproach,  while  she  softly 
caresses  Constance's  hair:  "Oh,  is  there  anything 
worse,  James  ?  " 

General  Wyatt,  hopelessly :  "  Yes  :  I  'm  afraid 
I  have  been  to  blame," 

Bartlett :  "  General  Wyatt,  let  me  retire.     I " — 

General  Wyatt:  "No,  sir.  This  concerns  you, 
10 


146  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

too,  now.  Your  destiny  has  entangled  you  with 
our  sad  fortunes,  and  now  you  must  know  them 
all." 

Constance,  from  her  mother's  shoulder:  "Yes, 
stay,  —  whatever  it  is.  If  you  care  for  me, 
nothing  can  hurt  you  any  more,  now." 

General  Wyatt :  "  Margaret,  —  Constance !  If  I 
have  been  mistaken  in  what  I  have  done,  you  must 
try  somehow  to  forgive  me ;  it  was  my  tenderness 
for  you  both  misled  me,  if  I  erred.  Sir,  let  me  ad- 
dress my  defense  to  you.  You  can  see  the  whole 
matter  with  clearer  eyes  than  we."  At  an  implor- 
ing gesture  from  Bartlett,  he  turns  again  to  Mrs. 
Wyatt.  "  Perhaps  you  are  right,  sir.  Margaret, 
when  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  the  wretch 
who  had  stolen  our  child's  heart  was  utterly  unfit 
and  unworthy  "  — 

Constance,  starting  away  from  her  mother  with  a 
cry :  "  Ah,  you  did  drive  him  from  me,  then  !  I 
knew,  I  knew  it !  And  after  all  these  days  and 
weeks  and  months  that  seem  years  and  centuries  of 
agony,  you  tell  me  that  it  was  you  broke  my  heart ! 
No,  no,  I  never  will  forgive  you,  father !  Where 


Not  at  all  Like.  147 

is  he?  Tell  me  that!  Where  is  my  husband —  the 
husband  you  robbed  me  of?  Did  you  kill  him, 
when  you  chose  to  crush  my  life  ?  Js  he  dead  ? 
If  he  's  living  I  will  find  him  wherever  he  is.  No 
distance  and  no  danger  shall  keep  me  from  him. 
I  '11  find  him  and  fall  down  before  him,  and  implore 
him  to  forgive  you,  for  I  never  can!  Was  this 
your  tenderness  for  me  —  to  drive  him  away,  and 
leave  me  to  the  pitiless  humiliation  of  believing 
myself  deserted  ?  Oh,  great  tenderness ! " 

General  Wyatt,  confronting  her  storm  with  per- 
fect quiet :  "  No,  I  will  give  better  proof  of  my 
tenderness  than  that."  He  takes  from  his  pocket- 
book  a  folded  paper  which  he  hands  to  his  wife : 
"Margaret,  do  you  know  that  writing?" 

Mrs.  Wyatt)  glancing  at  the  superscription :  "  Oh, 
too  well !  This  is  to  you,  James." 

General  Wyatt :  "  It 's  for  you,  now.     Read  it." 

Mrs.  Wyatt,  wonderingly  unfolding  the  paper  and 
then  reading :  " fi  I  confess  myself  guilty  of  forging 
Major  Cummings's  signature,  and  in  consideration 
of  his  and  your  own  forbearance,  I  promise  never  to 
see  Miss  Wyatt  again.  I  shall  always  be  grateful 


148  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

for  your  mercy;    and' —   James,  James!    It  isn't 
possible ! " 

Constance,  who  has  crept  nearer  and  nearer  while 
her  mother  has  been  reading,  as  if  drawn  by  a  re- 
sistless fascination:  "No,  it  isn't  possible!  It's 
false ;  it  's  a  fraud !  I  will  see  it."  She  swiftly 
possesses  herself  of  the  paper  and  scans  the  hand- 
writing for  a  moment  with  a  fierce  intentness. 
Then  she  flings  it  wildly  away.  "  Yes,  yes,  it 's 
true !  It 's  his  hand.  It 's  true,  it 's  the  only  true 
thing  in  this  world  of  lies  ! "  She  totters  away  to- 
ward the  sofa.  Bartlett  makes  a  movement  to 
support  her,  but  she  repulses  him,  and  throws  her- 
self upon  the  cushions. 

General  Wyott :  "  Sir,  I  am  sorry  to  make  you 
the  victim  of  a  scene.  It  has  been  your  fate,  and 
no  part  of  my  intention.  Will  you  look  at  this 
paper  ?  You  don't  know  all  that  is  in  it  yet."  He 
touches  it  with  his  foot. 

Bartlett,  in  dull  dejection  :  "  No,  I  won't  look  at 
it.  If  it  were  a  radiant  message  from  heaven,  I 
don't  see  how  it  could  help  me  now." 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  I  'm  afraid  you  ' ve  made  a  terrible 
mistake,  James." 


Not  at  all  Like.  149 

General  Wyatt:  "Margaret!     Don't  say  that!" 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  u  Yes,  it  would  have  been  better  to 
show  us  this  paper  at  once,  —  better  than  to  keep 
us  all  these  days  in  this  terrible  suffering." 

General  Wyatt :  "  I  was  afraid  of  greater  suffer- 
ing for  you  both.  I  chose  sorrow  for  Constance 
rather  than  the  ignominy  of  knowing  that  she  had 
set  her  heart  on  so  base  a  scoundrel.  When  he 
crawled  in  the  dust  there  before  me,  and  whined 
for  pity,  I  revolted  from  telling  you  or  her  how 
vile  he  was;  the  thought  of  it  seemed  to  dishonor 
you;  and  I  had  hoped  something,  everything,  from 
my  girl's  self-respect,  her  obedience,  her  faith  in 
me.  I  never  dreamed  that  it  must  come  to  this." 

Mrs.  Wyatt,  sadly  shaking  her  head :  "  I  know 
how  well  you  meant;  but  oh,  it  was  a  fatal  mis- 
take ! " 

Constance,  abandoning  her  refuge  among  the 
cushions,  and  coming  forward  to  her  father  :  "  No, 
mother,  it  was  no  mistake !  I  see  now  how  wise 
and  kind  and  merciful  you  have  been,  papa.  You 
can  never  love  me  again,  I  've  behaved  so  badly ; 
but  if  you  '11  let  me,  I  will  try  to  live  my  grati- 


150  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

tude  for  your  mercy  at  a  time  when  the  whole 
truth  would  have  killed  me.  Oh,  papa !  What 
shall  I  say,  what  shall  I  do  to  show  how  sorry  and 
ashamed  I  am?  Let  me  go  down  on  my  knees 
to  thank  you."  Her  father  catches  her  to  his 
heart,  and  fondly  kisses  her  again  and  again.  "  I 
don't  deserve  it,  papa!  You  ought  to  hate  me, 
and  drive  me  from  you,  and  never  let  me  see  you 
again."  She  starts  away  from  him  as  if  to  exe- 
cute upon  herself  this  terrible  doom,  when  her  eye 
falls  upon  the  letter  where  she  had  thrown  it  on 
the  floor.  "  To  think  how  long  I  have  been  the 
fool,  the  slave  of  that  — felon  !  "  She  stoops  upon 
the  paper  with  a  hawk-like  fierceness ;  she  tears 
it  into  shreds,  and  strews  the  fragments  about  the 
room.  "  Oh,  if  I  could  only  tear  out  of  my  heart 
all  thoughts  of  him,  all  memory,  all  likeness!" 
In  her  wild  scorn  she  has  whirled  unheedingly 
away  toward  Bartlett,  whom,  suddenly  confront- 
ing, she  apparently  addresses  in  this  aspiration ; 
he  opens  wide  his  folded  arms. 

Bartlett :  "  And  what  would  you  do,  then,  with 
this    extraordinary    resemblance  ? "     The    closing 


Not  at  all  Like.  151 

circle  of  his  arms  involves  her  and  clasps  her  to  his 
heart,  from  which  beneficent  shelter  she  presently 
exiles  herself  a  pace  or  two  and  stands  with  either 
hand  pressed  against  his  breast  while  her  eyes 
dwell  with  rapture  on  his  face. 

Constance :  "  Oh,  you're  not  like  him,  and  you 
never  were !  " 

Bartlett,  with  light  irony :  "  Ah  ?  " 

Constance :  "  If  I  had  not  been  blind,  Mind, 
blind,  I  never  could  have  seen  the  slightest  similar- 
ity. Like  him  ?  Never  ! " 

Bartlett :  "  Ah !  Then  perhaps  the  resemblance, 
which  we  have  noticed  from  time  to  time,  and 
which  has  been  the  cause  of  some  annoyance  and 
embarrassment  all  round,  was  simply  a  disguise 
which  I  had  assumed  for  the  time  being  to  accom- 
plish a  purpose  of  my  own  ?  " 

Constance:  "Oh,  don't  jest  it  away!  It's 
your  soul  that  I  see  now,  your  true  and  brave  and 
generous  heart ;  and  if  you  pardoned  me  for  mis- 
taking you  a  single  moment  for  one  who  had 
neither  soul  nor  heart,  I  could  never  look  you  in 
the  face  again  !  " 


152  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Bartlett :  "  You  seem  to  be  taking  a  good  provis- 
ional glare  at  me  beforehand,  then,  Miss  Wyatt. 
I've  never  been  so  nearly  looked  out  of  coun- 
tenance in  my  life.  But  you  need  n't  be  afraid  ;  I 
shall  not  pardon  your  crime."  Constance  abruptly 
drops  her  head  upon  his  breast,  and  again  in- 
stantly repels  herself. 

Constance :  "  No,  you  must  not  if  you  could. 
But  you  can't  —  you  can't  care  for  me  after  hear- 
ing what  I  could  say  to  my  father  "  — 

Bartlett :  "  That  was  in  a  moment  of  great  ex- 
citement." 

Constance:  "After  hearing  me  rave  about  a 
man  so  unworthy  of  —  any  one  —  you  cared  for 
No,  your  self-respect  —  everything  —  demands 
that  you  should  cast  me  off." 

Bartlett :  "  It  does.  But  I  am  inexorable,  — 
you  must  have  observed  the  trait  before.  In  this 
case  I  will  not  yield  even  to  my  own  colossal  self- 
respect."  Earnestly :  "  Ah,  Constance,  do  you 
think  I  could  love  you  the  less  because  your  heart 
was  too  true  to  swerve  even  from  a  traitor  till  he 
was  proved  as  false  to  honor  as  to  you  ?  "  Lightly 


Not  at  all  Like.  153 

again :  "  Come,  I  like  your  fidelity  to  worthless 
people;  I'm  rather  a  deep  and  darkling  villain 
myself." 

Constance,  devoutly  :  "  You  ?  Oh,  you  are  as 
nobly  frank  and  open  as  —  as  —  as  papa ! " 

Bartlett:  "No,  Constance,  you  are  wrong,  for 
once.  Hear  my  dreadful  secret :  I  'm  not  what  I 
seem,  —  the  light  and  joyous  creature  I  look,  —  I  'm 
an  emotional  wreck.  Three  short  years  ago,  I 
was  frightfully  jilted  " —  they  all  turn  upon  him  in 
surprise — "by  a  young  person  who,  I'm  sorry  to 
say,  has  n't  yet  consoled  me  by  turning  out  a 
scamp." 

Constance,  drifting  to  his  side  with  a  radiant 
smile :  "  Oh,  I  'm  so  glad." 

Bartlett,  with  affected  dryness:  "Are  you?  I 
didn't  know  it  was  such  a  laughing  matter.  I 
was  always  disposed  to  take  those  things  seri- 
ously." 

Constance  :  "  Yes,  yes !  But  don't  you  see  ?  It 
places  us  on  more  of  an  equality."  She  looks  at 
him  with  a  smile  of  rapture  and  logic  exquisitely 
compact. 


154  A   Counterfeit  Presentment. 

Bartlett :  "Does  it?  But  you're  not  half  as 
happy  as  I  am." 

Constance :  "  Oh,  yes,  I  am  !     Twice." 

Bartlett :  "  Then  that  makes  us  just  even,  for  so 
am  I."  They  stand  ridiculously  blest,  holding  each 
other's  hand  a  moment,  and  then  Constance,  still 
clinging  to  one  of  his  hands,  goes  and  rests  her 
other  arm  upon  her  mother's  shoulder. 

Constance:  "Mamma,  how  wretched  I  have 
made  you,  all  these  months  !  " 

Mrs.  Wyatt :  "  If  your  trouble 's  over  now,  my 
child," — she  tenderly  kisses  her  cheek,  —  "  there  's 
no  trouble  for  your  mother  in  the  world." 

Constance :  u  But  I  'm  not  happy,  mamma.  I 
can't  be  happy,  thinking  how  wickedly  unhappy 
I  've  been.  No,  no  !  I  had  better  go  back  to  the 
old  wretched  state  "again;  it's  all  I'm  fit  for.  I'm 
so  ashamed  of  myself.  Send  him  away ! "  She 
renews  her  hold  upon  his  hand. 

Bartlett :  "  Nothing  of  the  kind.  I  was  requested 
to  remain  here  six  weeks  ago,  by  a  young  lady. 
Besides,  this  is  a  public  house.  Come,  I  haven't 
finished  the  catalogue  of  my  disagreeable  qualities 


Not  at  all  Like.  155 

yet.  I'm  jealous.  I  want  you  to  put  that  arm 
on  my  shoulder."  He  gently  effects  the  desired 
transfer,  and  then,  chancing  to  look  up,  he  discov- 
ers the  Rev.  Arthur  Cummings  on  the  threshold 
in  the  act  of  modestly  retreating.  He  detains  him 
with  a  great  melodramatic  start.  "  Hah  !  A  cler- 
gyman !  This  is  indeed  ominous  !  " 


/  o  • 


